The Fifteenth Hunger Games: Fallen Leaves
by Glossy-12
Summary: Running through the forest. BOOM. A cannon fires. Leaves fall onto the fallen tribute. Let the Fifteenth Hunger Games Begin! 24 author collaboration.
1. Prolouge

**A/N: This is going to be a 24 tributes, 24 authors collaboration. If you would like to be part of it, please look on my profile. The earliest we will be starting is November 1st. PM me with any questions you have. I know this is short, but I just wanted to get this up so I can start getting applications.  
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Head Gamemaker Danus Nichalson POV: Fourteen Games have passed and they have gone splendidly. Instead of just being a punishment for the Districts, they have turned into entertainment for the Capitol too. It could not have been going better. Last year's Games was one of the best yet. The tributes were fighting in a volcanic wasteland and a handful died from eruptions and being pushed into lava. I am going to top that though. The arena that I have may seem simple, but with the batch of tributes that I have, it is going to be excellent.

Looking at the forest that I have pulled up on the monitor is a pleasant sight. The leaves are turning red to give the arena a fallish feel. The water sources are limited, with small ponds littered around the arena, but these are guarded by pumas. I didn't feel the need to alter these animals, they will be deadly just the way nature made them. The only other mutts that we have put in the arena are snakes. Rattlesnakes to be specific and any tribute unfortunate to be bitten by one will die within the hour. We did enhance their poison so if any tribute takes the poison and uses it, it will grant them a large advantage.

This will be the best games yet. As the tributes fall, the fall leaves will fall until one remains. Let the Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games begin!


	2. District 1 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): Here's the Reaping for District 1!**

**Velvet Luxe, 18 (BecksTheDivergent)**

**District 1 Female**

This is it. Today is the day I become famous, so I need to look sexy. Oh wait, I already am. No I'm not. Am I? Just look at your pudgy self, Velvet! Are you really going to tell yourself you're pretty? Stop lying to yourself!, my brain screams at me. I pinch my side and pull out a little, wrinkling my nose at the sight of my skin coming off a bit. Disgusting. Horrid. Atrocious. Someone as popular as me should not have flab. Is that flab or skin? I have no idea. Whatever. I'm calling it puppy fat, even if it's not. Well, I'm not eating breakfast. I'll just keep stalling until I have to leave for the reaping.

I take off my pajamas and get in the shower, even though I took one last night. Got to keep that hair glossy. Before I actually step in, I pour some hair oil into my shampoo and conditioner and put moisturizer on my face beforehand, so that it will soak in since my pores will open up due to the heat. I prefer do it prior to stepping in, because if there's one thing I hate, it's having an oily face. Now I can get in. Upon stepping in, I smile a little at the feeling of the warm water caressing my body. All I have to do to make this a happy situation is imagine drowning someone in this water. Hearing their screams-no, chokes- watching the life leave their eyes… mmm. Yummy. I snicker when I think of how I'll get to do this in a week, although I wish I didn't have to wait that long. When I was nine, I was diagnosed as a psychopath, and I love myself a little more for it.

* * *

><p>"Do you know what the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath is, Velvet?" The school psychologist had asked me, peering down her spectacles, clipboard in hand.<p>

"Yes." I replied sweetly

"What is it then?"

"A sociopath doesn't have empathy for others and a psychopath doesn't have empathy but they want to hurt people." I recited, as if it were one of the poems memorized for class.

"Do you know what empathy is?" asked my doctor.

"Uh-uh,"

"Empathy is when you can feel for someone and basically step into their shoes, and sympathy is when you feel compassion for someone," said Dr. Lace matter-of-factly.

"But that's the same thing," I protested

"It's very hard to explain," she added, "At least for me it is,"

"Nobody's gonna like me anymore," I said in a little-girl voice and pouted, tears brimming in my eyes, pretending I care.

"Sure they will," my doctor assured me. "You just don't have to tell them,"

"Thank you Dr. Lace." I sniffled and batted my long eyelashes

"Anytime, sweetie," she said comfortingly and gave me a reassuring hug.

She never saw my sadistic smile behind her back.

Well, I'm psycho. My teenage angst bitch has a body count. Ha.

* * *

><p>I get out my razor and start to shave my legs. This is something every girl from here does, but I go the extra mile. I look just like those blonde rich girls from the Heights, but I'm middle class. My parents work double shifts at their shitty minimum wage jobs to afford to send me to the Academy. Sure I never see them but I guess it's better this way. I get to do whatever I want and they get to pretend they have a normal, non-screwed up daughter. Wow, I never use that term. Suddenly I cut my knee and seeing the deep, beautiful red of my blood, I immediately wipe it on my fingers and lick it, savoring the metallic tang. Delicious. When I kill people in the arena, I'm going to lick their blood off my weapons just to show everyone who's boss. The people in the lower districts will host me in their nightmares, and the capitol, along with the career districts will envy me. But the tributes… they will only be able to dread being killed by me. Because it will happen eventually. They will all die at my hands. It's funny, I'm ruthless and unsparing to people, but I love animals with all my heart. People will mistreat you, cheat you, call you names, but animals only know how to love. Animals are stupid. After I'm done shaving my legs and under my arms, I put shampoo in my hair, lathering it up with my hands when I realize, Oh crap! I forgot to put my lip moisturizer on! Now they'll be all cracked and ugly! Shit! Ugly, just like me…<p>

I take a step backwards and wash out the shampoo, taking my bar of soap down from the rack. Wait, vanilla or rose? Hmm…

I end up going with vanilla because I like how it smells better than rose. Once I'm done with that, I start putting conditioner in my hair, smiling a little because of how sexy I'll smell. Strawberry and vanilla smell good together …right? Whatever.

After I'm out of the shower, I find a seductive-looking outfit to wear. I choose my Reaping uniform from the Career Academy, a gold and white dress that's tight at the waist and shows off my long legs. There's something sexy about being messy and dirty. Maybe it's the realness of it. But then again, being all dolled up is nice too.

I put on shoes and makeup, and then brush my teeth and leave.

As soon as I get out of the house, I start thinking about exactly what I'm going to do and say when I volunteer, but then a yell jolts me out of my thoughts.

"VELVET! VELVET! WOOOOOOOO!" my friend Sapphire calls, riding my other friend Monarch's bike. He's chasing after her, yelling about how he's going to report her to the Peacekeepers. As the most popular girl in District One I have tons of friends, but I consider Sapphire and Monarch my only true friends, ones that stand up for me when others try to talk shit about me behind my back.

Eventually she drops it and sprints, knowing that he's catching up.

"WHAT THE HELL?! MY BIKE COULD BE SCRATCHED UP!"

"You're being prissy!" I say.

"Whatever."

On the way we see the appointed male volunteer Saffron flirt with at least three girls. High cheekbones, haughty good looks, yeah he's handsome but he's dumber than a rock. Like, I mean seriously, he spends 90% of his time daydreaming or trying to score. Plus, he talks like he's in a low-budget romance film. I know he beat out all the 18 year olds for the tribute spot but still, there's no way someone like him can survive the Hunger Games.

Before I sign in, I make sure to tell him what I think of him.

We head over to the reaping and sign in, going to our section of eighteens. I'm one of the oldest, since my birthday occurs during the games. Wow, I'm almost 19 already.

"Attention, everybody!" the mayor calls. "The reaping ceremony is about to start!"

Our escort reads a name, but in the middle of the first syllable, I yell at the top of my lungs: "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

"Ooh, a volunteer," coos the escort. I don't actually know her name. "What is your name, dear girl?"

"My name is Velvet Luxe and I am your next victor!," I shout.

"Fierce young girl! Now for the wonderful boys."

"I volunteer" a velvety voice calls.

I watch Saffron walk to the stage confidently, smiling and winking at the crowd. Soon he'll be dead, the image of him twists in my mind into a pig walking to the slaughter. I sigh dreamily.

"Saffron from House Edinburgh, at your service," he says with a bow

"Well, aren't you a fine young man," coos the escort. Is she hitting on him?!

"Thank you, m'lady," he replies. M'lady? I scoff.

"Handsome and a polite young gentleman. Mmm," she beams. "Well District One, here are your fine young tributes of the 15th Annual Hunger Games! Until next year, tata!" she scuttles off as fast as her high heels will allow, most likely to slap on another garish coat of make-up.

We shake hands and I growl, "You try anything on me and you're dead."

He simply smiles, "To my last breath, I promise death before dishonor."

I roll my eyes, where does he come up with this crap?

After going into the Justice Building Sapphire and Monarch run in and exclaim," That was perfect! You are so going to win, Asskicker. We're going to be famous! You should talk about me in the interview since I know you love me."

"Yeah, well I'm gonna be unstoppable so shut up. Although I hope I didn't look fat or anything."

"You're like the thinnest person I know!" they protest.

"Oh oh oh! I have an idea! You should pretend to be dating Saffron!" yells Sapphire. I cringe, man I hope he didn't hear that.

"Ssh shut up!" I loudly whisper. "Besides I can't do that,"

"Why the hell not?" asks Monarch.

"Because…" I trail off.

"Because why?"

"I like somebody else,"

"Really?! Who?!" screeches Sapph.

"I honestly don't trust you with my secrets."

"You don't trust Sapphire Everlast?!"

"What about me?" asks Monarch.

"You're fine," I inform him.

"Sapph, Monarch will tell you when you can come back in," she acquiesces.

"So who is it?" Monarch asks once she's gone.

My palms suddenly get very sweaty. "Y-you…" I whisper.

"What?" he asks. "Sorry, I didn't hear,"

"You," I get out.

He stares into my face for a second.

"It's okay if you don't like me," No, it's not okay, but who would like me?

"I love you," he says. "You're perfect." Then he leans in to kiss me, and pure magic takes over.

"I'll win for you and Sapph," I state, opening my eyes.

"You're going to kick ass in the arena," he tells me. "Will you be my girl?"

"I'd love to."

**Saffron Edinburgh, 17 (written by Lady Fluorspar)**

**District 1 Male**

The sky is still sleeping when I make my way up the hill. I keep my head up as my feet pad through the dewy grass, marveling at the azure and purple swirls of the heavens above me. It only takes a few minutes to reach the sycamore tree my great-grandfather planted before the Dark Days. Standing over a hundred feet high and so thick that I can't wrap my arms around it, it's been my favourite spot to practice ever since I was a small boy and thought the treetops reached the sky itself. I remember one day I managed to climb up to the highest branch, I had stretched upward, and curiously grasped at the air. I didn't know what I was expecting but I was disappointed nevertheless.

'A gentle breeze grazes my cheek jolting me back to the present. I swiftly strike the tree with my left hand and watch as the leaves float gently towards the ground. I grab my twin swords from their sheathes slung on my back, perfectly balanced in my hands and close my eyes. My feet fall into the steps instinctively and my swords slice through the air with elegant precision. I block out everything except for the rhythm in my head and the sensation of the leaves being shredded all around me, a Mincing Minuet. When the dance is over I bend over, and with a smile of satisfaction pick up a handful of leaves, sliced into narrow ribbons. When I first started out I would miss almost half the leaves. Now, at seventeen years old there isn't an intact leaf in sight.

I throw my first sword into the trunk of the tree, then use it as a springboard to reach the lowest branches. I jam my second sword into the tree again and jump again to the higher branches. From here I have a clear view of my family's estate in the Heights. I can even see a few laborers heading towards the spice fields. For possibly the last time, I drink in the details, the half a million square foot palace that is House Edinburg and the many acres our farms sit upon. I peer farther out try to spot the equally grand House Dukewich and House Margrace, our nearest neighbours. Every family in the Heights is immensely rich, so much so that our opulent manors make Victor's Village look like a slum in comparison, and every family sends their children to District One's Academy for Performing Arts. It's a sign of our wealth, that we can pay costly tuition to spend our days singing and dancing instead of learning a trade. It's also a way to hide the fact that we train for the Hunger Games.

After the Dark Days, it was the only institution that was granted permission to purchase weapons for the purpose of weapons dancing. We perform an elaborate show for the Capitol twice a year to prove that we dedicate our time performing so they don't suspect we are illegally training for the Games. If our performance is not up to their standard, the penalty is death. As a result, our combat classes have a dance element, we sing as we do warm ups, and only one male and one female per year legitimately train. Right after the Christmas performance the Tribute Trials were held. Velvet Luxe placed first in the female category. I placed first in the male category. We weren't given roles for the Games season performance, our role was to be in the actual Games. Like District Two and Four, District One will be represented by its strongest, hardest combatants.

For the last time, I reach my hand out and try to touch the gold and red sky, and like always my fingers close around nothing. In a few weeks, perhaps I will truly touch the sky, be one with the heavens. I close my eyes and smile as another breeze whips by, my clothes and ash-blond hair fluttering while a couple of leaves brush past my face.

When I die, I will fly with the wind.

When it's almost time to go, I jump down from my branch, pulling out my swords in the process. I land gracefully, like a cat, sheathing my swords as my feet touch the ground.

I stop by my house, carefully put away my swords and shower. I dress in my Reaping Uniform, a gold and white tunic with black silk pants, check my reflection in the mirror and walk out the door.

It's a fair walk, from House Edinburg to Town Square and on my way almost everybody I meet wishes me luck and thanks me for my sacrifice.

"Saffron!" I turn around and slow down as I see my clumsiest neighbor, Chamomile of House Dukewich running up to me with her skirt lifted to an unlady-like length. She trips over a pebble and goes sprawling, but I catch her by the waist just before she hits the ground.

"Must we always meet like this m'lady?" I ask teasingly. I say always because every encounter has involved me saving her from her own two feet.

"Sorry! I can't help it, really!" she cringes

"Anyway, I'm glad I caught you, I just wanted to say see you in three weeks. I know you can win, you're the best, so much better than that awful Velvet." She grins and flies off again.

A few minutes later I run into Ruby of House Belcourt who grabs me by my shoulders.

"Listen Saffron, that stuck up psychotic" I wince when she uses a word that refers to a part of the female anatomy that I would prefer not to think about

"Velvet can't win. I don't care what you have to do, if she comes back and not you I will literally slit my throat."

I calmly remove her hands from my shoulders and cup her face gently, staring into her eyes

"Do not let vulgar expressions besmirch such a beauteous countenance." I say as her face flushes with colour. "Remember that I am not Velvet, whether or not she returns of her own accomplishment."

She nods, her face as red as the ruby she was named after and walks away

Finally, just as I'm about reach Town Square, Shimmer of House Sinclair slips beside me shyly.

"Ummm Saffron…." She blushes and says nothing

"Yes m'lady? You have such a lyrical voice it would do me well to hear it more often." I coax gently

"I'll be cheering for you. I-I might not be the loudest, but I'll cheer for you and only you. I won't be cheering for Velvet." she says in a whisper before hurrying off without waiting for a reply

I reach Town Square and line up to get my finger pricked and identified when my future district partner Velvet Luxe sidles next to me.

"Hey there Casanova," she smirks cruelly

"I heard all your little girlfriends' goodbyes. So they would rather see you win than me huh? Well too bad for them cause I'm coming back. And when I do…" she draws a line across her throat with her thumb

"I know where they live. Rich bitches from the Heights. Their heads are gonna roll."

She laughs nastily as she walks to the female lineup.

The boy behind me taps me on the shoulder.

"You're Saffron right? The guy who's going to volunteer?"

I nod coolly

"I'm Velvet's neighbor and-and I just wanted to tell you…" he pauses and gulps nervously

"Come on, you can tell him" his friend says gently

He takes a deep breath,"If it's you and her in the final two no one would blame you for offing her. " He says in a rush

"I beg your pardon?" I ask, puzzled.

"Or even if you two make the final eight, because you know, only one can win" His friend says

"Or even in the bloodbath, actually that would probably be the best time with all the confusion and such. We saw the videos of you sword-dancing, it would be really easy for you to knock into her and make it look like an accident." He looks at me hopefully.

I struggle for a while to come up with a dignified response but draw a blank. Luckily, the Peacekeeper grabs my hand and pricks my finger.

"Saffron Edinburgh, seventeen year old boy section" The Peacekeeper says in a bored tone, saving me from answering Velvet's neighbour.

I walk to the seventeen year old boy section and everybody cheers when they see me. As the boys slap my back and congratulate me, I dust off their grimy handprints from my tunic and try to find Velvet in the girl's section. It's easy because all the girls are crowding around her squealing and jumping up in down in excitement. I've always been good at reading female body language and I can see that although they act like they like her, they're secretly afraid of her. Yes, her "friends" are happy, but only because they know they are getting rid of her for good.

"Attention, everybody!" the mayor calls. "The reaping ceremony is about to start!"

Our escort Messalina walks up to the microphone. This year she's dressed in a neon pink pantsuit and enough jewelry to open a store. I count at least ten necklaces strung around her elaborately braided updo.

"Welcome, welcome, it's time now again to select a brave young man and woman to represent District One in the 15th Annual Hunger Games!" She announces dramatically.

She reads a name, but in the middle of the first syllable, Velvet yells at the top of her lungs: "I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!"

"Ooh, a volunteer," coos Messalina. "What is your name, dear girl?"

"My name is Velvet Luxe and I am your next victor!," she shouts.

"Fierce young girl! Now for the wonderful boys."

"I volunteer," I call

"Ooh two volunteers how exciting! Come on up dear."

I saunter casually towards the stage, waving and winking at the fine ladies

"What's your name dear?"

"Saffron from House Edinburgh, at your service," I say with a bow

"Well, aren't you a fine young man," she coos

"Thank you, m'lady"

"Handsome and a polite young gentleman. Mmm," she beams. "Well District One, here are your fine young tributes of the 15th Annual Hunger Games! Shake hands now!

Velvet grabs my hand and squeezes hard, like she's trying to break my fingers. She smiles for the crowd.

"You try anything on me and you're dead." She growls through clenched teeth

I look her right in the eye and smirk, "To my last breath, I promise death before dishonour."

An ugly look flashes through her beautiful face, but she quickly composes herself and continues to smile.

A wise man taught me that there were many ways to kill, and kindness was one of deadliest.


	3. District 2 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): I have gotten many of the chapters now. Hopefully we can get them all in before the deadline I set and we can move on earlier.**

**Lucas Brownford, 16 (written by divergenthungergamesfan13)**

**District 2 Male**

I put on my best clothes which is a white shirt and black pants nothing too fancy, even though we are rich, my father buys more weapon than clothes. I do my hair so it looks neat but still cool at the same time. I walk down stairs to find my father who is full of pride. "Son, remember, you are the volunteer for this years male and make me and district 2 proud." My father, Alexis Brownford, one of the main peacekeeper in District 2, was always 2nd in his class because he never got picked to go in the Hunger games and people say I look just like him but I have my mothers eyes, says patting my back.

"Father, the hunger games this year will be easy, I am strong, fast and handsome, so sponsors will be easy and my fighting skills are top to none." I say smugly.

"That's my boy!" He shouts, then my mother walks down the stairs of our big home in district 2, she hugs me and kisses my cheek.

"I love you Lucas and be home soon." She says and I can see the fear in her eyes but she is not trying to show it so I leave it.

"Mother do I ever let you down?" I retort with a lot of confidence. Then my weed of a little brother comes down and my dad can't even look at him, he is an embarrassment to the family, he looks nothing like me so it is hard to think we are related, I have a strong and fast build with healthy, dirty blond hair and blue eyes whilst he has a short and weak build with greasy brown hair and brown eyes, we look nothing alike to the great happiness of my father.

"Lucas, I think you can win so good luck." He says and I roll my eyes at my runt of a little brother.

"Sam luck has nothing to do with it, so shut up!" I demand at Sam and he looks down.

"My boy, it is time to go," My father says and I nod "And you! Keep a safe distance from your brother!" Father snaps at my brother.

I walk to the reaping with my head held high and with a bit of swagger too. Then I notice my girlfriend, Jennifer, is walking about 50 fit in front of me and I push fast everyone and touch her should "Hey Jennifer," I say and she is the only person in the world who can humble me and make me see clearly

"Oh Lucas." She says wrapping her arms around my neck, she has been a nervous wreak since I got announced as the tribute.

"Jen it is gonna be ok, I will be back in a few weeks. I promise you." I say stroking her beautiful long blond hair.

"I love you, so don't die!" She demands breaking the hug and her big brown eyes are looking into my soul.

"I love you too and I won't." I say picking her up and kissing her. When we are walking hand in hand, everyone is saying I am a perfect pick and that no one can beat me, which is true because I am undefeated in hand to hand combat but my bow skills are not the best but are still good. Then we walk up to the table where they take your blood and of course I get a perfect result and I walk pass them. I let go of Jennifer's hand and walk over to where the boys stand. I stand in our lines and wait for our guide to start speaking. My best friend, Callum, says "Hey dude, see you in a few weeks," Callum was always about 2 places behind me and was more of a bow man.

"Yeah, dude the girl from us is good but I am way better." I retort with confidence.

"Who is better than you, you are amazing!" He retorts, then my other best friend, John, he has the same build as both me and Callum but has an ugly face and greasy ginger hair, joins in.

"Well no, he is undefeated in hand to hand combat this year." John says sarcastically and I laugh then notice our guide is going to start talking.

"Guys Shut up! They are just about to start!" I demand and we all face the front and start to listen to our guide, Kevin Greenman, he has blue skin and bright orange hair, starts talking.

"Welcome all, this year was amazing! We have 100 new peacekeepers to serve and protect the people of Panem." He starts and we all clap and he quiets us up "Ok so lets start with the girls. Our escort walks over to the girl's bowl and pulls a name. "Spikelet Cronin."

The girl from our district, Valeria, steps forward. Now I just have to volunteer.

"Ok stand here, and know for the boys." He sticks his hand in "FRAZIER GLIFFORD!" He shouts and I move out the crowd and everyone is patting my back.

"I VOLUNTEER TO BE TRIBUTE!" I shout and Frazier grunts because he was always 2nd and hoped that I would forget but no way this is a big honor for me and my family.

"Of course." Kevin moaned, "Come on up then Lucas," He knows my dad and of course he knows me, my fathers pride but he doesn't know my brother though because my dad keeps him away from friends as much as he can. "So for those who don't know who you are, please tell us." He says handing me the mic.

"LUCAS BROWNFORD AND THE FUTURE VICTOR OF THE 15TH ANNUAL HUNGER GAMES!" I shout and the crowd goes crazy, the girls even more than normal. What can you blame them for; I'm strong, fast, healthy blond hair, beautiful blue eyes and I'm rich! I spot Jennifer in the audience who is rolling her eyes and I smirk at her. The games are going to be easy for me.

"Confident, love it, come on you two, time to say good bye." He says and I wave and blow kisses to the crowd.

I am in a room where all of my family and friends will come and say a private goodbye. Then I hear a yes sir and I know that is my father and my family. My father, mother and brother walk in "Lucas that was a great show, the capitol will eat you up." My father says hugging me

"Lucas, you need to work not get distracted by anything." My brother says and I hug him because this might be my last time ever seeing him and I do love him.

"We love you a lot Lucas, so win for us." My mother says with tears in her eyes and I wipe them away

"Mother I always come back." I say and then we have our last ever family hug before I am putting my life on the line. They leave and I am nervous but then I hear 2 idiots and know that is John and Callum. They come running in and I hug them

"You were amazing and I swear once you win" Callum starts but i cut him off,

"If I win." I correct him,

"Fine then if you win than your life will be amazing!" Callum says

"Yeah dude!" John agrees, I hug them

"Guys if I look after Jennifer for me, kill anyone who tries to use her whilst she is still getting over me, Ok?" I say and I trust my best friends to do this then the thought of Jennifer crying makes my heart almost break in half and a single tear runs down my face.

"I will do, bye!" They both say in unison and leave.

I put my hands in my head and just wait for anyone else, then the door opens again and there is Jennifer. I hug her and don't want to let her go but I know I have too. "I will fight and come back to you and do anything and I mean anything." I say into her hair

"I know you will and I will wait your ever step in the arena from home." She says almost crying.

"Don't cry or you will make me cry." I say wiping her eyes

"I love you and just the thought of you not ever being her again, just breaks my heart." She says and I pull her into my chest again

"I love you and I will never let that happen." I say crying too and all I want is her happiness and by me going into this could wreak it or make it. Then a peacekeeper comes in. "It's time to go to the train." I follow him.

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

If I didn't stop pacing, I would wear a hole in the floor. I can't help it. It's Reaping Day. Not only that, it's _my_ reaping day. This was it. This is what I had been training for since I was 10.

I go to the bathroom once more to stare at myself in the mirror and I am stunned. A lovely woman with wavy, dark brown hair, nearly black in the stark lighting. I look paler than normal, but I pray it's the lighting more than my nerves. What has me stunned is the beautiful blue dress – blue as the sky – that I am wearing. I absentmindedly brush the silky material on my side once more in wonder. It's easily the most expensive item in the house and I am the one wearing it.

Although I am from one of the wealthier districts, my parents are little more than factory workers. We get by. My two brothers and I at least never want for food or clothing, but the pointed looks and tactless words of my classmates burn no less and my parents don't have it much easier.

Now, I am the one hope for the family. Even with as little fortune as we have, my parents gambled everything to give me this opportunity to bring glory to the family. The original girl from my year ended up dropping out of the program when she finally cried out that she "didn't want to die!" She had to be removed; champions show no weakness.

Trials were held to replace and I was signed up without even being asked. I had looked like a deer in headlights when I was called from class and later learned that I was to be on trial to fill the role of the original Female age 10. I was led into a padded room of judges and asked to demonstrate my skills.

I felt I had nothing to demonstrate and wanted to bow out gracefully, but my family had talked about this since the first Hunger Games. A champion in the family. One who would bring us glory and honor and allow us to ascend from obscurity. By the time discussions became serious, my older brother was too old. All male positions were taken.

There were still female slots, however, and my parents put all of their effort to secure me a position. Young as I was, I didn't have much idea of what this entailed, but father took every opportunity to praise me and tell me how I had the will and ability to do _anything_. My brother deliberately thought up ridiculous contests, involving running or wrestling. I grew up getting the wind kicked out of me.

Standing there in front of the judges, it had all come back to me. I have been forced to cook with my mother since I could hold a knife, so when I picked one up, it was clear I knew my way around it. The second half of the trial had been an obstacle course, and all those afternoons spent sucking dirt from being pinned beneath my brother's massive body and the experience of painful stitches in my side as I attempted to outpace my brother were beginning to pay off.

There were few contenders. Most of the wealthier girls grew up in such a relaxed setting that they were too soft and didn't handle the rigors of the trial. My only real competition had the same scores and the winner was decided via punch out. It took them at least two minutes to revive the other girl.

I had won. I had outlasted and in the last girl's case, overcome everything to earn my spot, even despite my poorer standing. My popularity shot up overnight and I soon became like royalty to the other girls around me.

When Career school began, I took to it like a dolphin takes to water. It primarily consisted of games, at least for the younger girls, but as I grew classes became more rigorous and tactics-oriented. At eleven, we were allowed to handle all the weapons available. At twelve, we picked one and specialized in it until our very own reaping day.

I glanced over at my knives now, picking them up and handling them fondly. It was truly a shame we weren't allowed to take our own weapons, but I could cope. I was trained too. By the time I was sixteen, I was approaching my reaping day with excitement, but that all changed when I turned eighteen.

I'm not sure I could precisely say where the change came from or why, but after thinking on it for a while, I think it has to do with the fact that suddenly the Reaping became so real. In two months time, I would be in the arena fighting for my title. Fighting to the death. Death. The word has become so powerful so suddenly. Even when I watched my fellow Careers fight, more often than naught to their grisly deaths, the large screen of our projector made them feel so distant and unreal, as if they were merely waiting behind the scenes to pop out and surprise their family in the future.

The more I thought about it, the more fear seeped into my very being. The fear was fine. Our trainers have often spoken of the power of fear. For some it rendered them frozen and incompetent, but for others it spurred their efforts. We were trained to harness the fear and use it to our advantage. No, worse than the fear was the doubt.

Could I do this? Am I ready for this? What if I die?

I had been preparing mind and body to win since I was five. Not to lose. _There are other careers_, a treacherous voice seemed to whisper in my ear. _What makes you think you're better than all of them?_

I steeled myself and mentally shoved the voice down back into the deep dark caverns of my mind. There was no room for doubt.

"Valeria, are you ready?"

"Coming," I shout and race down the hall to my mother's voice, almost tripping over my gown. It took all of my strength of will not to kick it in frustration. I was as graceful as a cat in the training uniform and have _never_ found myself into a dress since career training began. Beautiful as it was, it felt strange and foreign to walk in.

"Oh, you just look absolutely beautiful," my mother said, walking over to embrace me. I unashamedly hugged her back. It could be a while before I see her again.

"Feeling okay?" My mom pulled back to look me in the eyes and I smiled widely at her. I am a happy and optimistic person, so my smiles are easy to come by and for once their easiness saves me. She need not know of the doubts.

"Yep! This is what I've trained for, mom," I replied.

"You are the _best_, Valeria. Never forget that." It takes all of my mental strength not to show my surprise at the way her comments seem to directly address that nagging voice. Must be mother's intuition. "Your father and I are so proud of you."

"I know. I'm ready."

Everyone stares at me as I enter the 18-year-old pen. Even without the stunning dress to declare my intent to volunteer, they know. It is my turn.

The Reapings in District 2 are much brighter affairs compared to what I've seen of the other Districts. Other District children seem to merely stand there sullenly and with some measure of terror. Here, though, with the Careers to ensure guaranteed Tributes, there is more laughter, joking, and cajoling. No one here has to fear for his or her life.

"Good luck, Valeria! You can do it!" My fellow career in the 17-year-olds section, Pliny Scrim says with a wide smile and gives my hand a quick squeeze. She has a strange name to match her strange personality, but she might as well be my sister.

"Thanks, Tiny Pliny," I say with a grin and a wink and she sticks her tongue out at me. She's taller than me now, but I can't help but rib her once more.

As soon as Kevin Greenman steps onto the stage, a hush falls over the crowd. I've stopped listening to this, having seen it every year since I was three. There really is no point; it's the same every time. No, I'd rather we jump right to the main event.

Then finally, just as I was beginning to lose my composure, Kevin stepped over to the girl's ball full of names. "Lady's first," he intones with a broad smile before reaching in.

"Spikelet Cronin!"

I don't even have to ask the girls for a path through. They just instantly part like a school of fish evading a shark and I am stepping through until I reach the makeshift aisle, raise my chin and with a large smile, I call out, "I volunteer as Tribute!"

I make my best effort to glide up to the stage effortlessly, oozing confidence and hopefully beauty. See how elegant and fine I am? Clearly the next winner of the Games.

"How very lovely! A volunteer! And your name, young lady?" Kevin asks.

"Valeria Sterling and I will be the next victor," I reply with a demure smile. Not arrogant, merely a matter of fact. The girls in particular applaud loudly.

"Excellent, excellent! I love your confidence! Now for the boys!"

I struggle to maintain my easy confidence. I know who the boy tribute is and I have never thought of him as anything but a pompous ass. If I may be frank, it seemed like most of the male careers were the same shade of arrogance and pomposity. I will enjoy the time I am not with him.

As predicted, Lucas strides to the front with his hands in the air as if he's already won! I struggle to keep from gritting my teeth as the District goes wild. This was hardly the welcoming I got and he's already the crowd favorite? This would take more work than I thought to stand above as the superior choice for Victor.

I'm already in the midst of plotting when I noticed Lucas holding his hand out to me. I grab his hand in an act of geniality, keeping it loose and my smile is barely more than a grimace, hoping he might mistake them for weakness. My trap is already being spun.

As I wait for final goodbyes, I stare out the window over the square and wander my eyes over the familiar brick streets and buildings. _The weakness that I cannot show; this is where I leave you. I will come back._

Of course my family shows up and I hug them all. They're pounding my back and giving me advice, advice I've heard a thousand times: Remember to control the water, don't rely completely on the Cornucopia for food, and use your instincts. I can see tears in my mother's eyes, but she is quick to dab them away.

Shed the worries, the concerns, the fears, and the doubts. This is where the game truly begins.

My little brother Tony gives me the last hug and then Pliny replaces them.

"You can do it, Val! You've worked harder than all the others. Now it's simply for the taking!"

"Thanks, Pliny."

She also throws herself onto me in a tight hug and I can't help but return it just as tightly.

"Come back to me, lady. I'll win my game if you win yours."

"Deal."


	4. District 3 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): This is my tribute and his partner written by CherryRedPanda. I hope you enjoy this chapter.**

**Casker Drummond, 16 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 3 Male**

The wet splat of the spitball hitting the peacekeeper's helmet reaches my ears as I duck behind a crate. Out of all of the oafs that they sent here to help with the Reaping, this one is by far the dumbest. I've spent the last three days trailing him around firing my spitballs at him.

My best friend, Colin, is keeling over in laughter as the peacekeeper spins around looking for whoever shot at him with the sticky projectile. I bring a finger up to my mouth and look Colin in the eyes. He nods back and I toss a smoke grenade out into the alley. Colin and I run out of the alley into a crowd.

That's the great part about living in District 3. Pranks are about as easy to come by as tessera. We have factories making all kinds of junk for the Capitol and their leftover, malfunctioning parts are just left out for anyone to take before they are sent to the junkyard. Well, they aren't exactly left out to take, but it's close enough. Leaving them out behind the factories overnight is practically inviting us to take them. I mean, how else am I supposed to entertain myself in this bland district?

I'm not the typical District 3 kid, but I'm not saying that I'm some career jock. I mean... I'm a jock in terms of what we've got here, but that's not saying much. In other districts I would just be an average kid. Here I'm a troublemaker that everyone is told to stay clear of. That is except for Colin. Colin and I have turned District 3 into out personal playground.

"Colin, I have to go get ready for the Reaping," I call out to him as I start to head home.

"Alright. I'll see ya in a little bit."

I walk down the dirty streets of my district and reach my house after walking for about fifteen minutes. I live in a decent neighborhood, and as far as I'm concerned, that's good enough. When I walk in, I see my little brother Ayax and my older sister Kassia poking around at their food. I don't understand why they are so sad. Ayax only has his name in there twice and I only have it in twenty-five times. I know it sounds like a lot, but compared to the other kids here, it's nothing. I know one boy my age who has his name in forty-five times. Kassia is clear from the Reaping so I don't know why she is so worried. My parents are rarely around, they work long hours at the medical factory making new medicines for the Capitol. Kassia works there too, but her hours are much shorter.

"Hey Casker," Kassia greets me as I walk in.

"Hey," I smile as I walk over to her. "You know I'm not going to get reaped."

"Casker... you don't know that," Kassia looks me in the eye.

"Yeah how do you know that you won't get reaped?" Ayax pipes up. It's his second Reaping and he is still protected by his lack of slips.

"Look, the poorer kids have dozens of slips in there. I only have two dozen. Trust me, it's nothing. Let's make a deal." I look him in his dark brown eyes.

"Yeah, what is it?" Ayax asks.

"If I get reaped, you can have my room," Kassia barely cracks a smile, but it is still there.

"Deal."

That's what I am. A joker. My sense of humor can keep me calm; laughing at myself is one of my greatest strengths. I only wish that the other people I knew viewed me that way. My parents always frowned upon it, especially when I was brought home by a peacekeeper for aiming a straw at him. Since I hadn't actually shot him with a spitball, he couldn't punish me, but I was grounded for months afterwards.

I walk to the bathroom that our family shares and shut the door behind me. The rusty lock takes a second before it clicks in, but then I pull off my shirt and drop my pants. I step into a pair of boxers and a black tuxedo. The tuxedo is my uncle's. He was rich, but recently died. This was all I was able to grab before looters ransacked his house.

I step out of the bathroom and see Kassia in a dress. I guess she changed in her room. I smile at her and she smiles back.

"I'm going to head down to the square," I tell her.

"Ok, just don't do anything stupid."

"No promises on that," I smirk at her and she smiles.

"Really though, with all of those peacekeepers around, you can't be pulling any of your pranks."

"Ok, I get it."

The walk to the square is the opposite of quiet. People are walking close to their families while I am just by myself. It's not that my family doesn't care, actually quite the opposite. They work too hard to provide the best for me. It's why they are never around.

As I enter the square, I see many people fretting about. I start to push my way through the crowd of people to get to the stands where they draw blood, but it takes a while before I reach the stand. The prick shocks me a little, but I've always been pretty stoic. I try to give the peacekeeper taking my blood a smile, but I can't bring myself to do it. Even though I won't be the tribute, two kids are going to be going into the Games from my district in these next weeks. Their fates will be sealed, most likely in a gruesome death. The highest we've ever gotten in the Games is second place, and that tribute fell to Albus Bonher from 6.

Our escort, Fionola Warren is sitting next to the mayor on the stage. I walk over to the pen for boys my age. It's like we are waiting to go into the slaughterhouse, it's just that we don't know who is safe and whom is a dead man walking.

Fionola could not be more mismatched to a district. She is the most athletic escort. She fought against us in the Dark Days and she treats us with disgust. I've heard rumors that she tries to get our tributes to join the career alliance that has emerged in recent games, but there is no way to know for sure since we've never had anyone return.

The mayor walks up to the podium and speaks. "Welcome everyone. It is now time to select our tributes for the 15th Hunger Games. But first, I need to read the Treaty of Treason."

He read the long document, and I just kind of zoned out like I do every year. He finally steps down from the podium and Fionola steps up. "Let's get this done."

She cracks her knuckles as she walks over to the girls' bowl. Her hand dips in and grabs the first slip she sees. "Fleur Auvergne."

A thin girl walks to the stage. I can hear a cry from the crowd, but that is common. There is almost always someone who cares for the tribute that is chosen.

"Any volunteers?" Fionola asks sarcastically. Only silence meets her. "Of course not," she says as she rolls her eyes.

She walks over to the boys' bowl and although I know that the chances of me getting reaped are impossibly low, my heart is still in my throat. "Casker Drummond." No, this can't be me. I don't know how to fight, how to kill, how to survive. But if I am to survive they can't know that. I make my way to the stage as stoically as I can. Fionola looks pleasantly surprised when she sees me, but if she knows anything she should know that I have no experience with weapons or anything of the sort.

"Any volunteers?" Fionola asks. I gaze out into the crowd, begging them with my eyes to take my place. It won't work though. I'm just met by the same silence that Fleur got and that every other District 3 tribute up here ever has received.

I shake Fleur's hand and I'm sure she can feel the sweat on my hand. I'm so nervous. This wasn't supposed to happen. This can't happen. I'm going to die!

I walk into the Justice Building and I pace nervously until Kassia and Ayax run in wit my parents. I run to them embracing them all.

"I love you guys. I'll do what I can to make it back."

"We love you Casker," my mom says to me with a tear in her eye. Ayax and Kassia are crying. My dad just looks at me and nods.

We stay like this for about five more minutes before the peacekeepers open the door. "Time's up." Kassia tries to hold on, but I push her off.

"Don't change how you live if I die. I'm not worth it." The door shuts and there I am sitting alone. I want to cry, but I can't. I can't have Fleur and Fionola seeing me as weak. I have to be strong for my family.

Suddenly, the door opens and Colin comes in. "Hey man, that sucks."

"Yeah, I guess it does," I try to give Colin a smile when he hands me an object. "My spitball straw," I have a mixed laugh slash choke as he hands it to me.

"Yeah, I figured if you are going to be in the Capitol you can mess with those bastards before they kill you."

"Thanks Colin."

"You can win Casker. I know you're good at spitballs and pranks. You can use a blowgun and traps. It's barely different."

"That's where you are wrong. It's completely different. I'll be killing people with these 'spitballs' and 'pranks'. This is real Colin. I don't know what I'll do in that arena, but I'm going to have to figure that our myself."

"I'll never forget you Casker."

"Likewise Colin."

He nods and exits the room. I hope he doesn't ever have to hold on to me as a memory, he deserves the real thing.

**Fleur Auvergne, 15 (written by CherryRedPanda)**

**District 3 Female**

Life in three was way better before the rebellion then it is now. " Fleur get down here honey," my mother calls up. My mother is sweet and kind but also ignores me all the time to be with my younger sister. She is so stupid; she can't even see how much the Capitol is doing for District Three. I feel around for the lamp and turn it on to find my sister gone. _She must have gone for breakfast_ I think to myself.

On my way down the stairs I find myself feeling queasy and light headed so I run straight to the bathroom. After about ten minutes, my older brother Neo knocks on the door. "Hurry up Fleur I don't have all day," he shouts impatiently. I step out to find he is already dressed and full of life.

Seeing him like that reminds me of my first reaping and how nervous I was about it. He was wearing a blue shirt with black slacks and navy shoes while I was wearing the same dress I am wearing today. I miss the days when he didn't have to work and I could go to school but no mother and father had to have another stupid retched baby and I hate them for it.

Also I never forgot what they did making me drop out of school to mind that vile creature. I have to change her, feed her, and wash her all while they go to work in factories which is what I should be doing, not them. Ibet, my father was a part of the rebellion and he reeks it and I wish he would just die as he caused this to happen and now look were we are.

I may love the Capitol but I despise the games as it involves children hurting children. I am convinced the reaping is rigged as all the people from Three who got reaped had some connection to the rebels. I am thankful for that as it means Panem will be rid of scum like that.

"Morning sweetheart," my father snaps me out of my daydream as he hands me a handful of grain and water. It may not be much but to me on reaping day that's a feast. Though I may hate him he does have redeeming qualities especially when it comes to my birthday.

"How is my flower," he jokes. He always tells that joke as fleur means flower in some old language."

" I'm fine just thinking about what will happen if I get reaped," I say glumly. My father takes this as his time to stop talking to me. He has never had to deal with the reaping so he doesn't bother comforting me.

My younger brothers who are seven and eight are just waking up. They can be a little annoying but they are good company. Trix my youngest brother has brittle bone and is confined to a wheel chair so he sleeps on the sofa. He isn't very lively and I don't think he will be alive for much longer.

After breakfast I run to my room to get out my white dress from under my bed. It has fit me since I was eleven and I have only grown three inches since then so I just keep wearing it. Someday I would love to be able to go to the capitol and buy some of the extravagant fashions and maybe dye my skin.

The dress slides on perfectly and I make a dash for this door when I am cornered. "Where are you going without a kiss from mummy," she says. "You aren't my mother," I snap.

After the little fiasco with mother I leave for the reaping. The walk to the square is relatively short stroll but for me it's long as I have little legs which will definitely be a disadvantage in the games. I meet my friend Orop who seems to be in a foul mood.

"What's wrong," I say sarcastically knowing he is thinking about the reaping.

"You know what," he snaps.

Him being in a foul mood snaps me back into consciousness and I realize what I have done to my mother. How could I have been that stupid? The town square is as dank and dismal as everything in Three nobody cleans in so it is absolutely rotten. Ironically today is the one day that actually feels safe as there are a lot more peacekeepers around than there normally is.

We round the corner and join the ever growing trickle of children slowly trudging towards the desk to get their blood taken by some low ranking peacekeeper. "Are you nervous?" Orop asks." Of course I am," I sigh wanting this to be over quickly so I can make up with mother.

"Next," the peacekeeper calls lazily. He seems really bored when I give him my hand. I feel and sharp pinch and am tempted to squeal when he jabs my finger for the blood. I walk off cursing that peacekeeper. The fifteen year old section is steadily filling up so I take my place and search the boys for Orop though I can't find him because he is too small.

After scanning the crowd my eyes turn to the stage to find Three's escort Fionola Warren. I may not like her but I do love her style and that she fought against those pesky rebels. If it wasn't for them I wouldn't be standing here today. I look at her unnatural golden eyes and her black hair. She looks beautiful.

The mayor on the other hand is a fat slob who thinks his children are the best because they are basically exempt from the reaping. "Stupid mayors children," I mouth to the girl standing next to who seems to be shivering with the cold. She looks at me and nods her head. She turns her head back in the direction of the stage as soon as the Mayor comes on to give his speech.

He reaches to podium but I don't hear what he says as anxiety is taking over my body. I feel my legs locking and all the blood leaving my body as if I'm dead. The sound of knuckles cracking catches my attention. I look to see Fionola dipping her hands into the girls bowl and pulling out a name. She totters over to the microphone and calls the two words I didn't want to hear " Fleur Auvergne".

"Why me, why me?" I sob as I slowly shuffle to the stage. There were few cries but I ignored them thinking of my death. I feel like this is the end of my short life and that some other tribute will make it as gruesome and painful as they possibly can. All the blood has drained from my face and I can feel myself shivering just like that girl I met in the crowd. I truly am living dead as I won't be coming back.

"Any volunteers?" Fionola asks sarcastically. Only silence meets her. "Of course not," she says as she rolls her eyes.

I look at her with anger. I may like her clothes but she isn't a nice person. Why doesn't she just go die in the hunger games I think. She doesn't seem to be happy with me but would any escort be happy with a 5"2 fifteen year old when eighteen year olds are much stronger?

Fionola slowly makes her way to the glass bowl with all the boys' names. A.s long as it isn't Neo I don't care. She walks back to the microphone while I wipe my face in my dress.  
>"Casker Drummond," she calls. I've never heard of the name, but then again I rarely go outside.<p>

A tall looking sixteen year old makes his way to the stage. At a distance he looks strong but up close in his eyes I see worry. I don't see him lasting long. Three won't be getting a victor this year. At least Casker and I will never have to face poverty again.

Fionola tells us to shake hands and when we do I feel the sweat rolling off Casker's hand at least that will mask my pale hands for a few seconds so I still look stronger than him.

We are shipped off to different rooms in the justice building to say our final goodbyes.  
>The peacekeepers throw me into one and I wait for my parents to arrive.<p>

All my family come to see me off including my mother who doesn't seem to be affected by my lash out at her more by the fact that her child will die." I'm so sorry mom," I say with tears streaming down my face. She hugs me tight and says" I should've been there for you," she lets go and I turn to my father.

"This is the last goodbye," I say to him.

"I know my flower but don't worry we will be together soon," my father mumbles. He knows I am not coming back so I just kiss him on the cheek and turn around to my brothers who I just hug and kiss countless times not wanting them to go and then I turn to it.

It will have to die soon and because I'll die I will drag it to the grave with me. She has no idea what's going on so she won't know I'm haunting her. Mother picks her up and gives me one last hug and then leaves along with the rest of my family. I am grateful for them not asking me to promise to come comeback alive, as they know it is a promise I can't keep.

Orop and the girl I met in the crowd come in to see me next. The girl introduces herself as Zelda and she hands me a flower clip.

" You talked to me and for that I am thankful," she says. Obviously she has no friends so I am glad she got something out of today. She hugs me and then sits down and waits for Orop.

Orop is holding on to me for longer than usual so it makes me wonder how much he will miss me.

"Promise me you won't commit suicide," he says.

I ponder his question for a moment. It is one things I won't do so I agree to it.

"I won't" he smiles at this and then hugs me even tighter. I feel like I am letting him down if I die but he will just have to accept that I am not coming back and maybe Zelda after him.

"Zelda will you mind Orop" I ask

She vigorously nods her head and then a peacekeeper shouts "Times up." They both leave kicking and screaming. Now that I am alone I feel like as though I was betrayed by myself and that only I am responsible for my actions, but that still won't help me to win.


	5. District 4 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): **One more!

**Cray Stone, 18 (written by Ripple237)**

**District 4 Male**

The brisk morning air awakens me from sleep. Seagulls are calling, and the waves of District 4 are lapping on the shore. I smile, and breathe in the air. Today may be the Reaping, but why let that spoil what looks to be a great day.

I hop out of bed suddenly excited. I'm always excited on Reaping Day, a combination of worry and happiness. This year I was almost picked to volunteer, but I "accidentally" dropped my harpoon spear during training at the Institute, which is the place where we train for the Games. Part of me has always wanted to compete, but the other part of me doesn't want to leave my dad and to take the risk of dying for victory.

I leap out of bed and throw open my closet. Before I pick something to wear, a movement catches my eye. Outside the window, someone in rags passes by our house. My dad provides for us fairly well, so we are not in poverty like some of District 4. I sometimes slip them something when I'm bringing bread, or fish I catch on the shore. I've haven't been on a boat since my mother passed away. Just the thought of my Mom makes me turn to look at her smiling face, behind glass, on my bedside table. The photo of her was taken just a week before she died. I sigh. It seems like only yesterday when we were laughing and talking together on the rocks by the ocean, listening to calls of the sailors, the waves, seagulls, and the sight of the sun in the sky.

We used to sit and count the times we saw a dolphin, seal, or sharks. It was a sort of game. Whoever saw the animal first got the points. Seals were 5, Dolphins were 10, and the occasional Shark was 15. As the game went on, we added more animals.

None of it really matters, but those times were some of the best of my life.

Sometimes I wish I was still 14, and I was playing that game with my Mom.

That's part of the reason why, and why I don't want to go into the games. If I die, I could see her. On the other hand, I don't think she would be very happy with me for leaving Dad, and giving up my life, the thing she created. These thoughts sway me.

This is my last year, and I'm very happy I purposefully dropped my harpoon. Mom would not want me to go into the Games. She never said so outloud, but it was clear she hated them. Now that I think about it, I wonder why part of me wanted the

Games at all. I guess it's just training in the Institute, and spending my childhood listening to kids talk about it, and watching them on the television.

I grab a green button down, and throw on some tan colored pants, with a leather belt, The belt buckle was a gift from Mom, and it shows a seashell. She collected them from the shore of the beach. The seashell on my belt is just a gray metal, but it means more than anything to me.

I head down the stairs, and make breakfast. Dad is probably out fishing for lunch.

We are always invited to a party down the street to celebrate the Reapings. It's kind of sick, which I think is why Mom never went.

After I finish breakfast I head down to the beach. "Hey look who it is!" Ryan shouts at me, racing over. I've been friends with Ryan for the longest time. He is the Mayors' son. Unfortunately for the Mayor, Ryan is an extreme trickster. Once he convinced me to hide on the roof of the Mayor's house. Ryan then threw a water balloon on his dad's head. God knows where he got the balloon. Nevertheless, we didn't get caught but the Peacekeepers were mad. I think the Mayor knew exactly who did it but didn't inform the Peacekeepers for the sake of his son, and I like to think me as well.

He slaps me on the back with lots of enthusiasm. "Last year of our names in those fishbowls eh?"

"Yep I can't wait for it to be over." I reply.

"Yeah and you almost got picked to go! But something tells me that that drop was definitely not an accident." Ryan says with a smirk.

I put my hands up in defeat. "You got me."

"Why didn't you want to go? Too scared or too modest?"

I don't reply at first. The concept of the Games has always been a hard topic with Ryan, and likes them sometimes. I have to cut him some slack though, since he is that Mayor's son after all.

"Well never mind." he says after a really awkward silence. "Well I'm excited, dude we can finally become full fledged fish! We can cruise the waters with no one to stop us."

He means that once we take a boating and swimming test, after our last reaping, we don't have to be watched closely by an adult, and go out on the water alone. Of course there is electric buoys at a good distance, so we can't go too far.

"Oh great here comes your fan club." Ryan mutters.

What he means by this is that a group of girls is coming our way. I guess I consider myself good-looking, everyone else seems to think so. I have my Mom's green eyes, and they were beautiful. I insist that it's just the eyes, but no one seems to agree. I'm tall, tan, and in shape. Those characteristics pretty much apply to almost all of the 18 year old guys. I've been desired by many people, and it's creepy sometimes.

"Hi Cray!" they giggle. Brook, the most popular girl, has been trying to get in my good books for a while, and it looks like she is trying again.

"So do you and Ryan want to come to my house after the Reaping? I'm sure we'll have lots of fun! Oh and Ryan, Lisa thinks you're really hot."

A short girl with curly brown hair blushes and turns away.

"Umm...Cray and I might come by later." Ryan stammers awkwardly.

"Hey look Dad is back!" I yell. This gives me and Ryan a chance to get away quickly. Dad is coming in from shore so I didn't lie. I stopped hanging out with the popular crew because of one night.

We were all at a party at midnight. The parents were out having a celebration by the water. We had poor judgment at 17. We took some alcohol, and we got drunk. I don't really remember what happened, but I woke up on the floor, with no clothes. That's about when we stopped hanging out with all the popular girls and guys. The time

Ryan and I lost our virginity.

I haven't really had relationship since that time. But I do have a crush, just like every guy. Her name is Sandra. She is very beautiful and very smart. She isn't like the popular girls. I'd like to say I'm not popular, but I am. Ryan and I are in with the popular crowd and always have been. I never really understood what made kids popular. Anyway, I've never talked to Sandra only heard her speak in school, not the Institute. I plan to ask her out after a I take my final boating exam. This is a problem because I can't go on a boat.

I haven't been since I was 14. Mom was killed when a boat capsized in a storm. I don't know what she was doing out there and if Dad knows, he hasn't told me. So I have to get on boat for the exam, but I don't know if I can do it.

We meet up my dad who has just exited the boats.

"Hey Ryan, Cray. Are you guys ready for your last Reaping?" he says.

"You bet!" replies Ryan.

"Yeah I'll be happy to finally work as a fisherman." I say

"You have to pass the exams first." my dad says, suddenly serious.

As if I needed reminding of that. Dad cleans himself up and Ryan heads to his Dad's house, to get ready to go on stage. It's a privilege apparently, but he says he hates it. After I tell my dad I'll meet him after it's over, and I head to the 18 year-old section. I'm so happy to finally be done with this. The escort does their thing, and the girl is chosen. I don't really pay attention. The escort reaches in and pulls out a name.

"Cray Stone."

"What."

"Why isn't Peter volunteering?"

"No!"

The voices jumble in my head as ascend the stage. I see Ryan stand up, and before he opens his mouth, I hold up my hand. This happened to me, and I will not let my friend possibly die for me.

Peter, the boy who was supposed to volunteer, is becoming red in the face as the kids around him yell and bombard him with questions. I can't blame him for not wanting to go in. But I am. I'm going into the Hunger Games.

**Maylin Coasta, 18 (written by EbunnyLove)**

**District 4 Female**

"Maylin the water is cold!" cried Minna. I look over at her and discover that she still only has the bottoms of her feet in the sea.

"It gets better the further you go in," I say gently. I walk back over to her and take her hands. She gingerly steps onto my feet and I propel us further into the low tide. Minna's face scrunches up the further we go into the water.

"But why is it so cold? Its summer, you said the sun shines in summer and warms everything!"

I study her young, perplexed face. Minna was beautiful and as she aged would probably look like my twin. She had the same tan skin and long blond hair, which was not quite at waist length as mine was. The only difference was her eyes. Mine were a vibrant and deep blue. Hers were as cloudy as the sky above us and as unseeing as they were when she was born.

My parents were very protective of her. They didn't like her going out much or to too many places. Only recently had I been allowed to bring her everywhere with me. She reveled in it and since I was her best friend in the world enjoyed spending all her days with me.

"It is summer Minna. But the clouds are covering the sun, which keeps the water from warming. Maybe tomorrow it won't be so bad."

I continued to walk her around in the shallow part of the ocean nearest to the shore.

I could have stayed out here forever with her but not today.

Today belongs to the Reaping.

Minna and I walked the long windy path back to our house hand in hand. She also held on to a long polished wooden stick I had crafted for her. With it she could tap in front of her to make sure she didn't run into anything. Many people were outside getting last minute things done before the reaping, hurrying up and down the path. I made sure to smile or wave at everyone.

For once when we got home our parents were back early, and my mom has already started cooking without me. I walk Minna over to a chair in the corner and help my mom start dinner.

"Are you nervous about today Maylin?" she asks me quietly.

"Not as much for me as for Minna and my other friends. I don't have may slips anyway but I can't imagine anyone we know going in there and having nobody."

My mom bent over and kisses me gently on the head. "You've always been so considerate. Hopefully if it's someone you know they will make it out okay."  
>I glance over at my sister. My father is teaching her about different types of spearheads he uses for fishing by letting her touch them and feel the differences between them. The thought of her in an arena-or anywhere really- without me is frightening.<p>

"Mom if Minna is reaped and I volunteered for her, would you be okay with that?"  
>She stops filleting the salmon for our lunch and looks at me. "I'd never be okay with either of my girls in the games, Maylin. I know you though. Your first thought would be to protect her and not let her go. So if she's chosen and you volunteer I would respect that choice"<p>

By the end she is silently crying and I drop my knife to hug her. "We'll be okay. I promise."

She gives me a very small smile in return as we finish cooking. I feel bad for making her think about something as awful as us being reaped; although parents all over Panem are thinking about it anyway. Over dinner though I could almost forget it though. My parents and Minna were laughing. My father told us a particularly funny story about a particularly large fish that nearly pulled him into the sea and capsized his boat; very adamant about not becoming someone's meal. In Panem though nothing good ever lasts for too long.

"Maylin can you please get ready and please help your sister into her best outfit?" my mother says as all the plates are cleaned away from the table.

"Sure thing Mama." I walk over to Minna and place her on my back, which is the easiest and fastest way to get her up the stairs.

She giggles as I race her up to my room and set her on my bed. I turn to my closet.

We are a middle class family so I do have a few nice things but I cherish every single item. I grab an old dress that is a bright yellow with bright red flowers over it.

Around my neck place my seashell pendent- with my first sand-dollar I'd ever found with my Father on it.

Once I'm presentable I take Minna's hand and lead her to my closet. I help her into a silky light blue dress that our mother used to wear a long time before us. Then I gather her long hair and try to tame it. Once I have it combed completely I give her a huge hug. I am very worried for her and how she will handle her first reaping.

Thankfully our family doesn't need tesserae. Minna will only have one slip and I will have just seven. That puts things in our favor doesn't it?

"Do you think I'll be chosen today, Maylin?" Minna asks quietly. "A blind person wouldn't be able to win ever."

"I don't think you'll be chosen today Minna, not with only one slip. As for how you would win never count yourself out. That's when you lose. When you let them beat you mentally and go in thinking you can't do something. Besides I'd never let that happen."

"So if I get chosen you'll volunteer for me? What if you don't make it? No one else will stay with me all day."

"I don't know what would happen Minna but you'll be okay."

She wraps her arms around me again and allows me to wipe away her tears. I lead her down the stairs to where are parents are waiting for us. We walk to the center of town slowly in a tight knit group, wanting to be as together as possible. Once we get there our parents hug us both before moving as close as possible to the 12 year old section. I know that they want to be as close to Minna as possible. I walk her over to her staging area myself and get her a spot where she can hold on to the rope. I give her a last kiss on the forehead and tell her that I'll see her soon.

I meet my friend Oceana in the front of the 18 year old section. She is one of the friendliest people I have ever met. We hug briefly before facing the front for the start of the reaping. I think about Oceana's family and the fact she supports her grandmother and herself and her fourteen slips in today's reaping owl.  
>Our mayor is probably the most boring when it comes to speeches. He has a quiet, reedy voice as well so it can be very hard to understand what he is saying sometimes. I wait patiently through his required portion thinking about everyone I know and how sorry I am that two more District 4 kids may die this year.<br>Our escort is a weird pink lady. Everything in District 4 is very natural so she sticks out like a diamond on a pile of rocks. She prattles on a bit and I can't help but wish that she didn't keep us in suspense.

I learn then to be careful with what I wish for.

She crosses over to the girl's reaping ball and picks a name. She steps gently back over to the microphone before announcing the name.

"Maylin Costa."

I hear Oceana's gasp of shock beside me which wakes up the part of me that has gone numb. I think of my poor, blind sister who know may as well have no one. I had never even bothered to think about myself.  
>I turn and give Oceana a small, sad smile before ducking in between two girls and heading for the stage. A peacekeeper helps me up the first step before letting me go. I walk to my place silently before for searching for the people I love in the crowd.<br>Oceana is now very visibly upset and is trying to hold back her tears. After a little searching I find my parents situated in the front row for families. My father has his arms wrapped around my mother as she sobs into his chest. It takes remembering that cameras are zoomed in my face to keep me from breaking down with her. Finally I find Minna. I almost can't see her as blocked as she is by all the taller children around her. Her face is screwed up the way she does to prevent crying. I look away knowing I won't be able to control my emotions much longer if I don't. Instead I focus on the boy who will be chosen with me.

"Cray Stone"

I don't know him but I felt sad his fate was the same as mine. The next thing I was truly conscious of was waiting in a room in the Justice Hall for my family. They all came in at once. It was strange seeing my mother leading Minna into the room. That was my job. Once she reached me she sat on the sofa next to me and held me tight.

"We love you so much Maylin." My dad said.

"You're a wonderful girl. Don't forget who you are in the arena. And no matter what we're proud of you."

"Thank you." I held my parents and my sister until the peacekeepers came for them as the led my parents out I managed to walk Minna for the last time over to the door.

"Remember to do your best and come back" she whispered softly to where I could barely hear her.

"I will. I promise."

With that they were gone and I was left with the overwhelming fear of what would happen next.


	6. District 5 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): Unfortunately, we needed another filler tribute, but that's what you got to do. Final reaping though so that's good. Check the forum for information on the next chapters in Order of Events After Reapings. Sorry that Arlette's Reaping is so short, I just needed to get this up so I made it quickly.**

**Milo Thetras, 14 (written by Starry Infinities)**

**District 5 Male**

It is time to leave, leave for the reaping. I stand up beside my best friend, and companion since we ran away all those years ago, Fearin Alderdyce. Fearin is taller than I, he has a long lanky build meaning his trousers are currently falling from his waist, barely held up by the piece of sting he claims to be a belt. His blonde hair hangs limply over his face hair covers his eyes as he joins me outside of the mud shack we lived in, tripping over a small rock as he does so. I can't help but let out a laugh.

"Daydreaming?" I ask, only to receive the reply of his eyes rolling. "About Azora?" I add, smiling cheekily at my best friend.

"No," he replies, blushing. It's so blatantly obvious that he has a crush Azora Watts, who we were heading to meet up with now.

"But do you like her?" I find myself asking, unable to stop my self invading Fearin's secrets.

"I'm not answering that," he replies, his cheeks turning red as he does so. I let out a chuckle as we approach the muddy track which Azora is waiting for us on.

"'Zora!" I call, a swagger in my step as I approach her, tossing my curls out of the way while I lift my hand for a high five, which goes unnoticed as her attention is now on Fearin, who she despises. But really, I'm certain something is going on between them.

"Hey, Azora," Fearin had said, now smirking at the girl, trying to put on a quiet, cool and flirty facade.

Azora's reaction shows how little she likes Fearin, infact how much she hated him. "What do 'ya want Fearin, you gonna go and hide behind your mumma so she can hide all of your Fear?" she viciously replies, almost snarling at the boy, who tries hard not to show he is shocked. My friend, however, is not very good at hiding his emotions, the result being a jump disguised as an over acted cock of the eyebrow.

"You're just jealous because I actually have a Mumma," my roommate and fellow runaway says, not realizing how stupid a thing it was to say until the words had already left his mouth. This is not going to go down well with Azora, a girl who never holds back her anger, and doesn't take it the Way your stereotypical teenage girl would.

As predicted, she leaps at Fearin, pulling her arm back to slap him. I need to interfere; I can't have my two best friends having a fight (which isn't an unusual occurrence).

"Stop it you two, you could be friends if you'd actually give each other a chance, I'm sorry that you are unable to cooperate," I shout, catching Azora's hand and placing my own on Fearin's chest to block the fight. They were pathetic, but sadly I had no way to stop them from arguing and abusing each other other than standing between them.

"Yeah, well seeing how horrible Fearin is you can hardly expect that to happen," I hear Azora grumpily reply as she tugs her hand from mine, stepping back and glaring at her foe

"She started it!" Fearin insists, pointing the finger, trying to escape the blame as a young child would, sadly he was fifteen and no one would fall for that act anymore.

Rolling my eyes I reply, "I don't care who started it but both of you need to grow up," I turn to my female friend, who is standing hand on hips as she gives the dirtiest look to ever grace the earth, "Azora, stop looking for a fight," I then turn to my other companion, "Fearin, please, you know that's a sensitive topic."

"Sensitive topic..." he imitates, muttered in a teasing manner under his breath. I barely react, only letting out a sigh. It used to annoy me, bud stuff like this wasn't rare when Azora and Fearin were in each other's company.

"So, 'Zora, how's Olli?" I ask, trying to get away from the subjects that cause arguments, naturally, I decided to tease my friends.

"Oh my goodness! We are not going out!" she shouts in exclamation, her mouth open in acted disbelief. I giggle.

"Just Friends?" I ask as we meander down the muddy track towards the reaping. We pass my hiding spot, which I try hard not to look at. I'm not exactly proud of who I am, what I do. I have to do it to survive.

Luckily, my thoughts are interrupted by Azora, who wastes no time in telling me her side of the story, "Yes, just like me and you are," she says bluntly, before reluctantly adding," and me and Fearin," in a sickly sweet tone to please me. I laugh, glancing at Fearin and winking.

"How in Panem did I come into this?" He asks very loudly, in genuine shock as he hoped not to be involved. I know his secret though.

...

I walk towards the fourteen year old section, standing alone in a sea of strangers. I keep my head down, hoping to go unnoticed. I don't trust these people, I don't know them, I don't want to be around them. It sounds silly coming from a kid who pickpockets in crowded markets, often punished and whipped by peacekeepers for my work, and lives in the densely populated slums, but it's true. Around Azora and Fearin I may seem social, bordering on boisterous maybe, however in this situation I just want to hide, to get away from these people.

I look up to see Maran Fluente walk on stage, almost hitting his head off the two metre tall door frame as he walks into the polluted air of District Five.

"Good day, District Five," he greets us, stoking his blue swirled tattoos that sweep up to his face as his smooth voice ringing though the square. "Time for another reaping, ten years since a victor originated from this feeble place, and hopefully another will return this year," Maran said, I and not sure if he really wants one of us to come home, I keep my head down, our District will just lose two more lives I don't care about, just as it has always been before.

"I suppose we'd better begin then," Maran tells us, stroking his silver microphone with his grey hands, his long nails clawing, scraping. I only care about one girl here anyway.

His hand dips in, carefully selecting a single slip of silver, one which bears one name.

_"Arlette Labelle," Maran calls into the crowd. Another girl I don't know being sent to her death. I continue to stare at the stage as he interviews her. Nothing interesting. Nothing significant. She's just another girl being sent to her death, why would I care?_

_"Milo Thetras!" He shouts, everyone before me turns around, looking into my eyes. Why?_

Me. That's me. I was reaped. This couldn't be happening. I start to stumble in the direction of the aisle, my knees shaking, I feel as though I will fall. I peacekeeper grabs me, pushing me as I reach the aisle. Showing no sympathy he roughly shoves me up.

Finally, I make it to the stage, standing in shock. Maran grabs my hand, though ing it in the air, shouting my name, announcing me as a tribute. I don't want to be here. I just want to go home.

I _can't do this. The peacekeepers force me away from all I know, shutting me inside the Justice Building. I am to be sent, shipped off to compete with other children. I don't deserve this. Why am I here? Why me? No one deserves this. Not the girl beside me, nor any other tribute. If only I wasn't selected but I was. Now I walk into a room, time to say farewell to those I love, and those I hate._

...

I sit in the room, a red velvet cushion beneath me, waiting for a visitor.

"Milo," I hear a female voice. I know it is my mother, looking up I see my suspicions are correct.

"Mother," I mutter, showing my anger and lack of emotion, "Is my father there too?" I grumpily ask, the only person I want to see less than my mother.

"No, he's, um, he's got a hangover, he's drunk. They wouldn't let him in," she explains, as expected, I thought they'd let me see him anyway, not that I want to.

I grunt, frowning, "Why did you come?" I ask.

"Because I love you," she told me, placing her cold hand on my frail shoulder.

"If you loved me you could have cared for me," I say, showing as little emotion as I can, shrugging my shoulder to make her let go of me. My back is turned.

"You know we had problems," she reminds me, taking a seat as I gaze out the window, watching the pigeons fly in the sky, blissfully unaware of what is going on.

"That's why I ran away," I reply, turning around to face her. She tries to hug me. Reluctantly, I pat her on the back. I do love her, but after being neglected, isolated, uncared for, it's hard to express it. I can't. I don't know what to do.

"Good luck," she tells me, lifting her head. I see her pale freckled face now stained by tears. If I return, when I return, I will give her another chance.

...

Next, Fearin enters the room.

"I'm so sorry," he says, crying. "You. You're leaving. I'm going to be alone," he tells me. The boy who usually towers over me now slouches, leaning on my shoulder.

"I'll make it back for you," I tell him, gulping back my own tears, trying as hard as I can not to break down.

"You'd better, I don't know if I could survive without you here." Fearin says, half jokily, struggling to bring a positive into the negativity that surrounded us.

"I'm coming home," I tell him, my voice stern. I have to be determined for this to actually happen, and I know it will.

_..._

_"Oh my god, Milo," Azora says, jumping, clutching my shoulders, "I can't believe this is happening. You can't go." This is coming from such a popular girl, she knows everyone, but yet she cares about me, the loner from the slums who only associates with two people. It's flattering. Azora's always been like my big sister, and here she is now, she cares about me..._

_"I have to, but I'll be back. I know I will. I need to know or it's inevitable that I won't make it back," I ensure her, just as I had with Fearin. I wasn't sure my words where the truth though, but I had to brainwash myself to think that way._

_"You are, I believe in you. You will return," she tells me. She looks fierce, as if she will fight, not me. She'll be here at home, with Fearin, with the rest of her friends. I'll make it back though._

_I will make it back; death is not an option in the mindset of a successful victor. At least, that was my approach, which would hopefully be the successful one._

_**Arlette Labelle, 12 (written by Glossy-12)**_

_**District 5 Female**_

_My first Reaping. I know that if I get reaped I am good as dead. I am twelve, I am small, I am weak. This is basically a death recipe in the Games._

_I sit in bed for what feels like forever. When I finally climb out, I hesitate before I walk into the kitchen of our house. Our house is pretty simple, just what we can afford with my parent's power plant salaries, but we make do. I didn't have to take any tessera so my name is only in there once._

_My parents spot me when I open the door and come up to me embracing me in the largest hug I have ever gotten from them. I know they are scared just as much as I am._

I sit down and my dad sets down a small breakfast for me. He offers a larger one, but I don't think I could eat much on such an occasion. The small biscuit with a small slice of butter is plenty for me today.

Eating doesn't help me feel any less nervous. I feel more queasy as I start to head to my room to pull on my Reaping clothes. My clothes are laid out neatly in front of the mirror in our bathroom. It is a small light grey dress and a necklace from my mother. Looking at myself in the mirror just reminds me of who I am. I'm just a little girl from 5. If one of those boys from 2 or 4 got a hold of me they could quite literally snap me in half.

I walk downstairs and see my parents smiling at me. I smile back. It feels forced, but its the best I can do. While we walk to the square I see dozens of people talking to their loved ones. We finally arrive and I walk over to the line of eligible children. I get to the front after a couple minutes.

"Name," the woman in front of me asks as she pricks my finger.

"Arlette Labelle," I say as a small tear escapes my eye.

She looks at her scanner and nods. "Next."

I scamper off into the section for girls my age. All of us are terrified, but I can tell that some are handling it better than others. The mayor takes the stage and starts reading the Treaty of Treason. I look at Lope Reier, our lone victor as he scans the crowd. He killed ten tributes in his Games, a record, but he hasn't been able to bring any of us home yet. I think he's given up on us.

I can tell that our escort has taken the stage and I look over to see him. His tattoos are ridiculous, but who am I to judge Capitol fashion? He smiles and greets up as he strokes the microphone.

"Arlette Labelle." That's me. I'm good as dead. I just start bawling and a peacekeeper has to come pick me up to get me to the stage where I just collapse. No need to make an image for the sponsors, they know that I won't last.

"Milo Thetras." A young boyt takes the stage. I sniffle and shake his hand before I am led off into the Justice Building.

My parents come in almost immediately and hold me in the tightest hug that they can.

"Arlette, you have to return."

"I can't. Look at me. I'm small and weak."

"Sure you can, you just have to try."

The rest of our time is spent with them trying to convince me that I can win, and me saying that I can't. When the peacekeepers come, they have to pry me off of them. The door closes. I am alone.


	7. District 6 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): There is very exciting now that we are getting a lot of our Reapings in. I will put up a poll on favorite tributes once we get all of the Reapings up. Review to give the authors an idea of what they can improve on/did well.**

**Sabrina Partridge, 16 (written by RowlingTribute91)**

**District 6 Female**

I've seen more of Panem than the majority of District 6 will see in their lifetimes.

How, you might ask, when my country is harshly censured?

The trains.

I'm a train operator- okay, technically, I'm an apprentice. We ride throughout the country to deliver goods, and every so often, with supervision, I take control of the machine. It never gets boring for me. Traveling the country, drinking in beautiful scenery.

District 8 is on our schedule today; and we must be home earlier than normal. The Hunger Games will send off two unlucky souls to their deaths this afternoon. Pardon me if I'm already shaking like a leaf. Five hours left…

"You've got nothing to worry about," Wyatt assures me as we pull into District 8's station. Rings of sunlight break up the black sky, officially welcoming a new day.

"People on tesserae are more likely than you. Heck, I was on tesserae, but I missed out."

"I could still lose somebody I care about," I reply.

"I know. It's like picking from two evils and deciding which is lesser. Not the best of circumstances."

He gets a sarcastic chuckle from me. "You can say that again."

Once Wyatt and I bring the train to a complete halt, factory workers start unloading the goodies. Typical drill. Then it's off we go. Our route, which has been the same for decades, loops around in one direction. Meaning that we pass District 13. We're respectfully quiet upon reaching the frigid, northern wasteland. Wyatt gazes outside, sighing.

"I won't ever get accustomed to that," he says. "My old district in ruins. Man, was my family lucky, escaping when we did."

I've always wondered exactly what he endured during those bombings, but I didn't pressure him. Now that he's talking, I feel brave.

"What do you remember about District Thirteen? I mean… before?" I ask.

He scratches the bald patch on his head. "I remember dealing with tons of snow; way more than District Six gets. Sometimes you couldn't see out the windows. Really beautiful, though. It was a lot like the climate in District Seven. And we lived by the ocean."

"Sounds peaceful."

"It was. Once the bombs started falling, we took cover in a neighbor's basement. We waited for weeks down there, to be safe; then, gradually, we traveled southwest, until we stopped in District Six. And that's my story."

While we operate the train homeward, a silence divides us. But it's a comfortable silence. Full of a new understanding. I've always cared about Wyatt, and now, I know he trusts me enough to reveal his story. The man was around before Panem existed. Forget what I learned in school; any valuable info regarding our history, I've learned from him. What we call Districts, they called States. And there were fifty of them. It blows my mind.

District Six appears outside the windows soon. While there are forests here and there, miles of pavement have ruined its natural beauty. But I call it home. And now that we've returned, I can't push the reaping out of my mind. Can't even be still for a second. The train has barely stopped- but I jump off.

"Are you crazy, Sabrina?" Wyatt asks as he leaves the operator's car.

With both feet planted in the ground from my landing, I assure him, "I'm fine."

"Well, before you go… Happy Hunger Games," he says, tipping his hat.

I return the salute with my own cap. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

The neighborhood where I live isn't far; not even three blocks away. Houses line every pathway I take, which might confuse visitors. But my family's house remains the largest one on my street. Hard to miss.

Our parents lost their battles with morphling addiction a couple of years ago. This district is notorious for that, sadly. Nelly and I won't go near the stuff, no matter how bad it gets. She's busy fixing a loose board on the porch. Her resemblance to Mom is almost scary. The same chocolate eyes, square face, petite build, and tan complexion. Even a similar birthmark near her foot.

"Hey!" I call out.

Nelly stares up at me and offers a tiny smile. "Hey, yourself. There's a sandwich waiting for you in the kitchen. Would you check on Vic, too?"

"Of course. Thanks."

After I grab the delicious lunch Nelly prepared, I walk to Vic's room; and he's nowhere in sight.

"Vic? Are you hiding?"

A sneeze comes from under his bed. Yeah, he would be there. I lay down on my stomach to see him, head locked between his arms.

"Why haven't you changed into your reaping clothes yet?" I ask him.

"I'm too scared…"

It's his first reaping.

"All of us are scared," I reply. "Your friends are right there with you. Hold onto their hands if you need to. I'm afraid just like you. But we've got so many people in our district that the odds of you getting picked are really small. Remember, your name's in the bowl-"

"-Twice. Stop acting like Mom, Sab."

I can't ever be the mother Vic needs. Neither can Nelly. She walks him to school, picks him up, and buys us food at the market weekly; but she's only nineteen.

"Please, come out," I say.

Vic obeys me- finally. While he dons his reaping clothes, I go to my room. Put on the usual top and skirt. Brush my hair and slip into dress shoes.

The mirror shows me a girl with beige skin, brushing out dark curls that run to her shoulders. I've got only two more reapings after this one. Thank goodness. It's the most unnerving part of every year, no contest.

Yet another train moves us to the Justice Building. We run annual procedures- which makes it more nerve-wracking, if you ask me- and file into our designated lines. My friends are mainly guys, leaving me to my own devices.

"Hellooo, District Six!" our escort declares from onstage. Not sure whether it's a man or woman. His (her?) ensemble is definitely feminine; lots of poof and glitter; but his deep voice can't possibly be a woman's. "In case you forgot, they call me Faustinus

Crumplehorn. Here begins another year of our nation's greatest tradition. Today we select the wonderful pair of tributes who will honor your district in the Fifteenth annual Hunger Games!"

Hip, hip. Hooray.

"First up: our female tribute."

I cross my fingers, praying that it won't be-

"Sabrina Partridge."

Don't cry. Don't.

This is where my sponsor image construction begins, and I'm ultra-conscious of how I wanna come across: A tough chick who can't be destroyed. Miraculously, I hold in the tears until Nelly, Vic and I say farewell.

"They can't take you away! They can't!" Vic cries.

Nelly grasps my hand tightly. "I never would've volunteered for anybody but you, and now that you've actually been reaped, I'm too old... this just sucks."

"Never, ever blame yourself," I insist. "I'm gonna do my best, for the both of you."

Some people might count me out. But if I'm attacked, that's a totally different story. They'll be in for a rude awakening.

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

"Sans! Sans you around here?" The familiar female voice pierces through the air and fills my house. I lean forward to call out to her, and it's not long before the equally familiar clanking of her wheelchair becomes louder.

When she appears in the door, she's a mess. Her hair is in chaos, with brown curls flying everywhere and her bright hazel eyes are wide with excitement. I can tell she's barely containing herself, so now I'm excited too. Delilah always brings me good stuff, and if she's brimming with excitement then it must be spectacular.

"Okay, ready?"

"Yup! Whatever it is, gimme!" I say excitedly, bouncing on my heels. Our conversations never started with 'hello' or 'what's up' or even 'how are you'. It usually something all the lines of Delilah bringing me something or wanting to give me information and me ready to soak everything in. Its how our relationship is and I like it that way.

I shake my ginger-brown colored hair out of my eyes, and focus on the magazine in her lap. It's obviously some sort of Fashion magazine and it looks like it's from the capitol because District 9's escort is splayed on the cover. Oh yeah. District 9 won last year.

"Okay, why is it fashion, De?" I ask, deterred. Of course she brings fashion. She may be a geek, but she's still a girl and she enjoys that stuff. I do to; don't get me wrong, it just wasn't what I was expecting. Usually Delilah isn't quite as excited as fashion, so it might be some pretty great shirt if she's this excited about it.

"Wait," she murmurs, flipping through it. Apparently, Delilah finds the article she's looking for because she lights up. Shoving the magazine in my face, her finger taps an article about the President thinking of traveling outside of Panem and exploring the world.

"They even want to see what's behind the sky! Space or something or another. Before the dark times…"

"Don't De," I murmur, catching her sad expression. It was sixteen years ago, but I know she vaguely remembers watching her sister die in the war. I know it's hard on her talking about it, even though she was four, but she tries to forget. "It's okay. So wow, this is really neat… I do wonder what's out there… what's it like and shit… what do you think?"

"I think, it'll be mesmerizing. Captivating. Beautiful. I have a feeling it'll be amazing," Delilah says. She's getting that glossy look in her eyes that she gets when she fantasizes, so I clear my throat and – in my most girlish and nasally voice possible – look at her with a smile.

"So you wanna go try some make-up?"

"Hasn't your mum been getting suspicious?" She asks, but backs up the wheelchair so she can get to my mother's room. I help her move out into the hallway, but then back away. I have memorized how much I can help her before she gets agitated. She says it makes her feel useless.

"Yeah," I admit when we're almost to my mum's room. "Yeah but who cares you know? Like, seriously she'll find out either way. It won't be my sister, she hates make-up. She'll figure out it's me and she'll accept me or she'll hate me… if she hates me…" I trail off.

"We talked about this, Sans. I even asked my dad, and he's cool with it. You can come live with me and him. You'll definitely be the brother I never had then," she grins. I smile back at her, and make my way towards the small floorboard in which my mother kept her make-up. I remove the lipstick and moves towards the mirror, applying a thick layer to my lips.

I pop them – making sure the lipstick is on right –, and turn toward Delilah, flashing a stupid pose. She rolls her eyes at me, and moves towards the floorboard to get blush.

"Here, put this on dufus," she says, throwing the compact at my chest. I obey and add the black eyeliner and mascara that was sitting on the desk as well. When I turn to look at her, she has that look in her eyes that says I look wonderful. So I agree.

"I look fabulous!" I exclaim, flipping my longer invisible hair. Delilah claps and laughs, agreeing with me wholeheartedly. I turn and suddenly I get an idea. I'm sure my eyes light up and I start bouncing again – she says I bounce, I know I don't – because she gets the 'oh no' look on her face.

"Let's go all the way today. Dresses, heels… I know my mum keeps a wig for extra special occasions, I just have to find it!" That's where my friend pauses, double-takes, and stares at me in surprise. She frowns, a pout on her lips. "…What?"

"It's just… I mean… are you sure? Technically, you'll be classified as a full blown drag queen right? That would happen? And… do you want to be transsexual?" Delilah looks uncomfortable – like she doesn't really want to have this conversation – and I roll my eyes, my hands on my hips. I sigh sarcastically when she hasn't realized what I'm trying to say.

"I don't want to cut off my penis, if that's what you're implying," I say, dead serious. Delilah looks at me again before bursting into laughter. "Well I have to be blunt with you sometimes, sweetheart."

"Are you even gay, Sans?"

"Mm… I dunno. Sometimes I see girls and I'm like 'hot damn' but sometimes I look at boys and I'm 'oh hot damn!', you know? I guess I float down both rivers," I say, moving my arms in a wiggly and uncoordinated motion. Delilah nods, understanding my weird wording even though any other person would be confused. Ah yes, I love my adoptive sister.

"This is an odd conversation," I admit. "Can we just… save it for a later date?"

"Sure, my precious cross dressing pearl. Let's talk about what heels we're going to try on… I think all your mom has are old lady heels, though," she frowns, wheeling towards my mum's closet to sift through the piles of shoes and heels on the floor.

"Oh, you have no idea what she wears on date night then," I say, my eyebrows rose. "She gets down and dirty, my mum." I move towards her 'secret drawer' where not even my father knows what's in there. I, however, find a pair of very high, strappy, stilettos. "Down and dirty."

"Gross, bro, I don't want details."

-x-

Hours of dragging and undressing me in clothes later, Delilah and I are hanging out at the square, eating candies and teasing the uptight posh girls of the upperparts of the District. Occasionally our laughing will get too rowdy and people – the teenagers and young adults of the District especially – will send us dirty looks or make snide comments about the cripple and the outcast.

But we're having such a good time eating our candy and being just downright awful to them, switching the script for once, that we can't care. Not today. Today we won't be scarred by their awful words.

"So," I say around a mouthful of chocolate drops. Delilah wrinkles her nose at the gooey mess that she catches a glimpse of, but raises her eyebrows in response. "Outcome of the reaping today. What do you think?"

"Some snide, stuck-up will get called and be a bawling, sniffling mess. Maybe some guy will try to volunteer for his girlfriend but duh, asshole, you can't volunteer for the opposite gender. Anyway, all her 'friends' will bail ass on her, and she'll be left alone to cry like a baby on stage."

"Ooh, I like that prediction. Fingers crossed," I chuckle. Of course, I don't mean it. I would never wish such ill harm on anybody, not intentionally and definitely not meaning it. I really don't like the idea of these Games, think they're bad news and will only end in another war – hopefully soon, and while I'm alive – and more deaths. I hate watching people I know die on screen; I've hated it since I was able to understand what was going on.

I know Delilah feels the same way, and that we're just venting. No, we don't really want our schoolmates – rather my schoolmates, seeing as Delilah is done with the reapings, as well as school – to be reaped or have to volunteer to just go to their slaughter. Want them to have a taste of their own medicine, sure. Want them to die? Absolutely not.

"Totally," Delilah agrees her curly brown hair bobbing as she speaks. "Yeah and you? What about the boys?" I frown, swallow my chocolate, and take a deep breath.

"Maybe one of the quiet ones. The ones who don't speak up or defend us when they're teasing us. They'll just get on stage, stoic and quiet. Maybe shock got to 'em or something. There'll be weeping mothers and screaming friends and upset girlfriends, but no volunteer. And he'll be quiet until they take him in for goodbyes. Then everything will settle in and he'll be just like the rest," I say drily, suddenly void of emotion. "A screaming sheep heading to slaughter."

"That's… actually really sad…" Delilah frowns. "Sans don't do that. You know I hate sad things." She sighs, and stares at the ground, the frown still present on her face. I glance at her, a soft feeling replacing my void.

"I'm sorry… Delilah," I murmur gently. She immediately glances up at that, her eyes widening. I'd called her 'Delilah' once before, when we met. Then I had settled on a comfortable 'De'. "What if I'm chosen? Like I mean, what if our bloody escort chooses me to go up there and die, I mean… what if, you know?"

"Well it depends on the outcome," she whispers. I think about it for a second before breathing in sharply.

"Say I die."

"Then so do I."

"Don't say that," I whine, grabbing her roughly by her shoulders. The idea of her hanging herself, killing herself… it's too much for my weak, incompetent mind to comprehend. "That's what you have to promise me. Slice up your arms, sure, I don't care. If that's how you cope. But don't kill yourself, De. I mean… if there's a heaven, then I'll be up there looking over you right? Right?" Anything to give us some sort of false hope.

"There is no god, Sans," she whispers. "Haven't you bloody well learned that by now? There is no higher powerful being! Else we wouldn't be having this conversation. We wouldn't be sending teenagers to die." Her words are cold and they stab at me. I've never heard her speak so… harshly. Sad? Sure, a thousand times. Angry? Oh yeah, I hear it every other day. But cold? Never. She said she would never get too rough with me, one time when they were younger. It was the only way I would trust her – she hadn't been in the wheelchair at the time, and she had honestly looked pretty scary towering over me – and she seemed to already know how to get into my mind.

So to see her so cold towards me makes me flinch.

"De-"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she says, eating the last of her candy. I frown.

"But we need to," I point out intelligently. "Actually, I demand you sort this out with me… please. De, if I get reaped and I die, I need you to try and keep living. Moving on with your life, you know? Like, dress up really pretty and show up and someone's party. Crash that shit like the bitch you are, and be fabulous about it. Or… I don't know." She goes to open her mouth, but I put my hand up.

"Wait. But if I win and we get that big fancy house in Victors Village, I swear to god I'm going to pay every single rich fancy Capitol doctor I know to come to District 6 and bloody fix you. I don't care what I have to do; I will try to come back, okay? Okay?!"

"Okay!" She yells back at me. I grin broadly at her and hug her. Well, half hug her, due to the wheelchair. When our intimate moment is over, she frowns again. I groan obnoxiously, knowing what's coming next.

"Why are you even bring this up all of a sudden? I've know you since you were twelve, and not once have you ever brought up the chances of you getting reaped. Not a single time."

"I… I took out tessarae last week," I confess. There is no lying to Delilah. I am incapable of doing so. She glares at me, and I can almost feel the anger boiling inside her veins.

"You. Did. What?" Her voice is angry, but not cold. Well that's a plus, I think drily, at least she doesn't hate me anymore.

"I… we ran out of some stuff, dad was torn of what to buy. We need oil, grain… but also some food, and well, we were out of personal hygiene products, and my sister needed those desperately. So I took out tessarae. No one else in the house could do it, so I made an executive decision."

"Sans, your family knows that whatever you need, my father and I have to spare. We can afford more things than your family has and we don't mind sharing, you know this."

"Yeah, but it was late. And we know how you all treasure your sleep," I wink, but she doesn't smile. Finally, I sigh again. "You know dad, he has a big thing on pride. No one asked me to, I just didn't want him to stoop to that level, you know? Besides, I didn't really think of that."

"How much?"

"Enough for everyone in the family. Mum, Dad, Stacey, and I. Four. So…" I pause to count on my fingers. "I have eight in there. S'not so bad."

"Yeah, it is. I mean… that's four extra chances of… why are you so bloody stupid all the time? No wonder you want to bring it up! Sans you're going to possibly die! Are you not smart enough to see that?! Ugh." I know she's frustrated, I get that. But insulting my intelligence is going to get us nowhere in this situation. Besides, I simply don't see what the problem is. It's not a lot.

"I'm sorry," I whisper. She glances at me, rolls her eyes, and ruffles my hair. I shriek, quickly rearranging it with a friendly glare towards her.

"Me too, I shouldn't snap at you. It's about two hours until reaping; I have to go get ready. Besides, it's reaping dinner. You know how dad is; he likes to have a big lunch before we go down, even if I'm not eligible anymore. I'll catch you before the reaping, I promise," she says, gripping the wheels on her wheelchair. "Sans?"

"Yeah, De?"

"Don't do anymore stupid shit, okay? I really need you around." Then, with those words, she begins to roll towards her house. I nod, smile in her direction, and begin to make my own trek back to my house.

-x-

"Sans, honey, is that you?" My mum's voice asks from the kitchen. I nod, but then remember she can't see me, and call back a simple 'yeah'. There is some banging around before she appears with a cake – expertly made, it must be from the bakery – and a grin on her face. Stacey and my Dad follow her, each with a small gift in their hands. They look less amused.

"Happy birthday, Sans!" My mother exclaims, excitement filling her eyes. I almost hit myself in the face. Of course I forget my own birthday. I do it every year, mostly because it falls on reaping day and there is so much excitement about that. Generally, it gets lost in the shadows. Even Delilah forgot, but I'm not mad. I understand, she's pretty forgetful.

But I'm mostly upset because I'm known not to forget anything.

"Did you forget, Sanny?" Stacey asks. I'm the younger one, but she's the one with all the stupid nicknames for me. 'Sanny' seems to be her favorite though, because not a day goes by in which she doesn't call me that.

"Nah, just lost track," I reply smoothly. "Thank you all… but this… looks… expensive," I drag out the words slowly, knowing that my parents will deny it until their graves.

"No, not at all! Here, sit down, blow out your candles and get a slice of cake. You can open your birthday gifts while you eat," my father says, sitting me on the living area couch. I am a bit confused, because usually Stacey is out for my birthday and my father is busy with his work at the train station, so it is only me and my mum for his birthday, with a small rum cake that she managed to pull together.

But I learn this cake is chocolate, with buttercream frosting and my name carefully written in neon orange icing – my favorite color, how did they even know that? – And 'Happy 17th' scrawled below that in a soft blue color. It is a nice cake, and I enjoy every bite of it – and the following three slices after that – but I'm still confused.

And that's when it clicks. My family is doing this for the tessarae. The thought nags at me, but it's the only thing that makes sense. My father wouldn't fork up this much money for anything if he didn't feel guilty. And my relationship with Stacey isn't awful, but we aren't particularly close – mostly because she feels that I'm not her real brother, since I'm adopted and all – so the only way she'd be here is if our parents forced her.

"Open your gifts," Stacey encourages. Mostly because she's eager to get this all over with. "We all bought them." The gift opening is nothing special. One is a small pouch of coins – Money for my birthday, how original – but the other is better. It's a small make-up bag, filled to the brim with my mum's best make-ups.

"How did you-"

"Stacey doesn't lie to me, Sans. I knew it was you. Besides, you wear my eyeliner every day, it's not unobvious," my mother says, sitting next to me. My father and sister look uncomfortable, so she dismisses them. "It's alright. I still love you, they still love you, and we accept you. As soon as I get the chance, we'll get you some more clothing, alright?"

"No, mum, you don't understand," I say, grabbing her hands in mine. "I don't want to dress up full time. Just sometimes. Maybe at nights or something, entertain people with it. I don't know, but I still like being a boy sometimes. I just want to be able to show my fabulous side."

"Then your wish is my command, sweetie," her eyes flit to the clock and she jumps up. "Oi, it's almost reaping! Go on, go get ready. We'll all be waiting by the door… for our little boy," she says gently. I nod and make my way upstairs to dress – which is nothing special, a black shirt, a plaid shirt to go over it, and tight black leggings along with lace up boots – by the time I add some lip balm and eyeliner, my sister and father have gone.

My mother smiles at me softly and I drop a kiss to her cheek.

"I'm going to see if I can catch up to De," I say. "I'll see you after reaping, mum."

"Bye, my sweet child," she says softly, smoothing back tendrils of the ginger brown locks on my head. I burst from the house, ready to tell Delilah the good news, but when I get to her home she's gone. And I can't find her anywhere at the reaping either, which is odd because she usually stands out amongst the crowds.

I don't have time to think about it though, because I am forced to sign in and get in my division – which is right in the middle of the sixteen and seventeen kids because my birthday falls today – for the reaping. I can barely comprehend the starting of the reaping – which is a blur of Faustinus our escort (and I don't say female or male because I'm not even sure) – describing the video and talking about something or another. I am mostly zoned out, my worry for Delilah increasing by the minute.

"Alrighty then! Shall we do the gentlemens or the ladies first?" Faustinus asks. Her – his? – voice rings throughout the square, shattering my thoughts. "Let's do the ladies!"

"Hmm… Sabrina Partridge!" I zone out again, not wanting to confirm Delilah's prediction. I notice how she looks though, and she's really pretty. Chocolate brown skin, wavy dark hair and pretty brown eyes that shine in the sunlight.

There is faint sobbing, but not from the girl. Well at least she has self-respect.

"Now for our men! Let's… ah here. Sans Klein!" I look around for the unlucky fellow before realizing that I'm the unlucky lad. I open my mouth, but no air comes in – or goes out, really – and when I am able to glance up at the screens, there is a horrified expression on my face. I look, quite literally like a fish out of water/

"Sans!" A voice cries out, and I turn to see Delilah in the crowd, pushing on the ropes to hold back the parents and over or under age children. I push through the boys to get through to her, and surprisingly I am not stopped. I crouch where she sits in her wheelchair, now a shiny silver color. So that's what she almost missed the reaping for.

"De," I gasp, finally opening up my lungs. "De, I'm so scared."

"Sans, Sans get a grip on yourself," she glances behind me, where I can sense Peacekeepers coming to retrieve me. "Stay stoic. Be the mirror of your partner, I'll see you in Goodbyes okay? Sans keep your head in the game!" Her voice gets louder when I'm grabbed under my arms and dragged away. I don't know what I'm feeling anymore. Anger, at the people who initiated the Games. Fear, at the possibility of losing my life. Sadness, because I am leaving my family with no chance of tessarae or survival.

And yet as all these emotions course through me, the only people I can think about are my mum and Delilah. What will happen to them, once I'm gone? My father certainly wouldn't put up with my mother's fun ways, and immediately every suggestion she has will be shot down. And as for Delilah? She won't last long either, once people realize they only have one punching bag for their pent up emotions.

I can't handle it, all of these emotions swimming through me. I need to release… I need to scream. I want to scream, but Delilah's words glue to my being and my mouth remains shut, my face expressionless on the screens.

When I grab hands with the girl, I hope they're not too sweaty. That's literally my only thought, because processing anything else would certainly cause my humiliation. I can't even bring my mind out of 'off' after we're ushered inside the Justice Building or to our goodbye rooms.

But when my mum enters – followed by Delilah –, I break down. She grabs me and holds me and since I'm fairly short and she's a bit tall, I am able to rest my head on her shoulder. She lulls me a little, calming me down with soothing words. I garble out something about being killed through my sobs.

"You are not going to die, Sans. Stop being so negative," she whispers.

"B-b-b-but mum," I half-whine, half-sob. She shakes her head, tucking her blonde curls behind her ears. I always thought my mum was beautiful, with blonde curls and shining blue eyes. But it's always been obvious we aren't family and I'm okay with that.

"I won't hear any more of it. Here," my mum removes her pearl necklace and puts it around my neck, a smile on her face. I touch it, remembering how it is her favorite pearl necklace. She wore it to all her reapings, and it was to serve as her token in case she was ever chosen. "Now you can be fabulous in the arena, too."

"Mum, I-"

"I said no more of it, young man and that's final. Your father and sister send their apologies, but they could not make it," I notice she looks distressed, and I can see she's lying but I shake it off, instead giving her a kiss on the side of her head – by standing on my tiptoes – and striding swiftly towards Delilah.

I notice the fat tears dripping down her face, and I can feel her emotions through my own. She's suffering as much as I am. And that kills me inside.

"De," I start, trying to think up the words. "You have done things for me that no other person has. You have shielded me, you have protected me, and you have acted like a big sister almost all of our lives. I hate that we're…" I pause again, my voice breaking off.

"Oh Sans," she whispers, reaching up to wrap me in a wet embrace. I say wet because neither of our shirts are quite the same afterwards, both soaked to the brim in moist tears.

"I look awful," I whisper. "My mascara is ruined, look what you've gone and bloody done." I glance at myself in the mirror, and I'm right. I do look awful.

"I know, huh? Terrible. As per usual."

"Oh bitch," I laugh. I realize what we're doing, we're covering up our pain with laughter. "I'll miss you."

"It's only for a few weeks," she murmurs, bringing me back to her. "Then you'll be home."

"We both know I'm not," I reply. And for once, she doesn't frown and fight me. She doesn't object. She just accepts it. Delilah doesn't argue against Sans. Well, it's freezing over in hell, that's for sure.

"I… I know," she whispers gently. "But you have to try. Just try, please? For us?" She replies, gesturing to my mother and herself. "Try."

"Deal as long as you don't kill yourself," I say, my voice harsher than intended. Delilah pauses before agreeing.

"I won't… I won't do anything, I promise." And with those words, I can't repress the gasp of relief that comes from my mouth.

"Then yes, I'll make my best effort. I love you both, so bloody much. You hear me? I love you both." I pull everyone in the room into an awkward half-hug due to the wheelchair and my mother's height. There are more tears and half-murmured 'I love you's' before Peacekeepers storm the room, removing Delilah and his mother with undeniable force.

"Don't hurt them leave them a-" The door slams in my face in the middle of my rant though, causing me to jump back. I don't understand how such kind people can be so rude.

But I understand more when they come to deliver me to the train.


	8. District 7 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): **Now that we are almost done with the Reapings this is very exciting. You may want to start working on your Pre-Games chapters now.

**Blair Lancaster, 15 (written by CusCus81)**

**District 7 Female**

"MUM...DAD."  
>I<p>

'm running, as fast as I can. 

I carry a bucket of water; I have to put out the fire. 

I HAVE to save them.

I'm almost there. 

The glare of the fire in the night sky becomes brighter.

I trip, but there is nothing there. 

The water isn't in the bucket, it's all over me. 

I KILLED THEM.

"NOOOOOOOOO."

I bolt upwards. The girls who usually bully me stand around my bed, laughing. 

I remember now. I'm in my bed in the community home. NOT at the fire, 

One girl has with her a bucket, recently emptied on my head. I'm drenched. 

How could this day possibly get worse? The Reaping.

I clamber out of my soaked bed, shooting the girls a dirty look as I pass them on my way to the bathroom. 

I tend to treat this day as any other usually. 

The Reaping to me is a day off school, a day free of bullies and if I get reaped, I won't be bullied ever again.

After my shower I peer my head out the bathroom door, no one in sight. 

I scamper out the bathroom and over to my wardrobe. I pick out the dress I wear every year, the only dress I have. 

It was my mothers'. She wore it most of her life, she said it was her favorite because it was the same color as my dad's eyes. It is one of the only thing's I have left of her, besides my eyes. 

We looked nothing alike, my mother and I, our only similarity was our eyes, they were practically identical. 

She said that's how she knew I was her daughter from the beginning; I always had these huge golden eyes.

I smile to myself for a while, remembering the fun times we had together. We weren't the richest of families, but what we didn't have, we made up in love for each other. 

I miss them. But I will see them again, eventually.

I'm pulled back to reality by the sound of my name being called from the kitchen. Breakfast must be ready. 

I quickly pull on my dress and run a brush through my hair before running down the stairs to breakfast.

I know community homes often get a bad reputations and sure there are a few rats, cracked windows and holes in the walls, but, trust me, the food makes it all worth it. Every morning the baker brings us a crate full of fresh bread, jam and orange juice. 

He tells us his parents didn't want him when he was born so he grew up in a community home. 

I feel sorry for him because I know my parents loved me. 

Before I know it, its time to leave. 

Everyone fell unusually quiet on the walk over, but I suppose its the same every year. An awkward silence, aroused by the knowledge of not knowing whether you will walk the same road, pass the same tree or even use the toilet at the home ever again.

It seems I have been thinking a lot longer than I realized because when I finally come back to my senses I'm walking into the town square.

The town square is relatively simple in district 7, we hear rumors that in District 1 the pavements are lined with diamonds and that they sparkle in the sun. Of course those are only rumors, but what I know is the truth is that in District 7 we have no diamonds, we barely have pavements. Most the time the paths in District 7 are cobble stones and that the town center is a circle of cobble stones in front of the poorly kept justice building.

But on reaping day its transformed, and is one of the few things I look forward to on reaping day. The justice building looks like it has been polished from head to toe and the power cables above the reaping area have been covered with ribbons and fairy lights. 

It's actually really pretty.

Ouch.

I retract my hand and realize I have been stabbed in the finger by a peacekeeper. 

"Name," they say. 

I hesitate. 

"NAME," they say threateningly.

"Blair Lancaster," I say softly looking down at my feet.

I'm pushed into the 15 year old section. I don't have any friends; I tend to keep to myself. So I stand alone and wait.

Eventually I hear the capitol anthem blare through the old speakers on either side of the crowd. And Geoff walks on stage. I would have now way of knowing, but I know be has to be the worst capitolite, EVER. He is a short man with green spikey hair and a green beard with a gap in the middle. Today he is wearing a green fur coat that matches his hair and silver leather trousers that have the largest flared bottoms I have ever seen, you collect hundreds of pinecones in those flares, but to top it all of he is wearing glass platforms with sparkly rhinestones covering the majority of the shoe. 

Even though he dresses as he does, our biggest problem is that he wants to be the District 1 escort and he doesn't let us forget it.

"Let's get this over with," he says. Same old Geoff, negative, just how we like him. 

He walks over to the female reaping bowl. Its really weird, I feel as thought the whole world is in slow motion, I can hear kids at the front already whimpering and the girl behind me praying.

"Blair Lancaster," maybe I will see my parents sooner than I thought.

I start to walk towards the stage, almost robotically. I'm completely emotionless, not a single tear, not that I expected any. Its almost like I have completely shut down, I'm oblivious to everyone and everything around me, I barely hear the name of the male tribute. I think its something like Fords, wait that must be Fords Ryland; he is in some of my classes at school. We aren't friends or anything, more like acquaintances.

After the reaping Fords and I are pulled into the justice building for our goodbyes. I don't expect anybody.  
>However about 30 minutes into the hour I have for goodbyes a woman I have never seen before walks through the door.<p>

"Umm...hello, are you lost," I ask 

"No. My name is Lucy Carter," Carter was my mother's maiden name. 

It's completely silent. I'm not quite sure how you should react when you meet an aunt you never knew you had, especially when you have been alone for years. 

"So your..." 

"Yes,"

"Okay," what am I supposed to say? 

"Look, I know this is the first you have ever heard of me, I mean I hadn't had any contact with my sister for years until the night of the fire," she pauses "She wanted you to have this when the time was right, I'm guessing this is it."

She reaches inside her pocket and pulls out a crinkled envelope. Her eyes linger on it for moment before handing it to me. I look down at it, running my fingers over the seal. I look up to thank her, but she is gone.

I'm guessing this dress isn't all I have left of my mother, I feel a tear leave my eye, all the memories I had buried deep down over the years surfacing. 

I'm so confused. But if mum wanted me to have this I should open it, for her and dad.

I break the seal and empty the contents onto my lap. 

A folded piece of paper and two rings on a chain. 

When I reach for the paper I see my name written on it in my mums handwriting, handwriting that I haven't seen for 7 years.

My dearest Blair,  
>I know that receiving this letter may have you totally confused and with a lot of questions.<br>I wrote this because I knew what I was doing was illegal and that those actions may have severe consequences one day.  
>I needed you to know that your father and me would have never voluntarily left you. We loved you so much. You meant the world to us.<br>I told your aunt to give this to you when you were ready. This means your either 19 or have been reaped.  
>If you're 19, that means your safe from the hunger games and free to live your life, I want you to do just that, you need to be happy and find someone you love, like I love your father and make your own family. Don't let your father and I hold you back.<br>If you have been reaped, then my darling please fight, fight for your life that me and your father gave our lives to protect and make a difference.  
>We love you Blair and always will<br>MUM XXXXXXXXXX

I wipe the tears from my face with the sleeves on my dress. I love them so much as well. And I promise mum, I promise I will fight and try to make a difference.  
>I pick up the two rings on a chain, these are my parents' wedding rings.<p>

There is a tag attached to the chain that says we will be with you though everything.

The loud bang on the door signals that my time is up. I tie the chain round my neck and press the rings to my heart.

This is it.

**Fords Ryland, 15 (written by bobsytwins)**

**District 7 Male**

Orange light sits heavily behind my eyelids. I know I should get up, but my body refuses to move. I hear the familiar sound of my brothers' bickering in the kitchen and groan. They couldn't go one day without fighting. Weren't we supposed to be a team? Today, of all days?

Today. Today was the reaping. I swallow hard.

I try to ignore the dread crawling in my chest, but it seems inevitable. I open my eyes, squinting when the sharp light pierces my irises. I rub the sleep from my eyes, sighing.

Today was the reaping.

I look across the room, and frown at the sight of my sister's old school picture. I try to wrap my head around the fact that she's gone. I feel uncomfortably numb, my stomach sporting an empty feeling impossible to fill.

I don't know why I keep it there, or why no one else seems to remove it. All signs of my sister's existence have been removed a long time ago. The reminders must have been too painful for my two brothers and mother. We had sold all of her clothes and belongings, tucked away every photo. Every photo except this one.

My sister looked exactly like me. We were often mistaken for twins even though she was three years younger than me. She had the same dark brown hair as me, same golden brown eyes. She was pale in the kind of way that almost seemed unhealthy.

I guess it was unhealthy.

I tear my eyes away from the photo, but I still feel her eyes watching me. I welcome the feeling. Relish it even. I enjoyed knowing some part of her was still with me. Even though I feel like throwing up every time I see her picture.

When I enter the kitchen I see that my brothers absently mindedly picking at their food. I try to smile at Beau, my oldest brother, but he gives me a blank stare in response. He had just turned eighteen a month ago, signifying his last year in the reaping. Part of me knew I should be scared for him. We have never needed tesserae, but his name is in that ball enough times to make me worry. Daryl, only a year younger than Beau, gives me a small grin. They both looked shockingly alike, much like my sister and I. Same sandy blond hair, dark brown eyes. Their faces mirrored each other's worry. The kind that glazed over your eyes and made it seem like you were more dead than alive. It scared me. It scared me a lot.

It was like Bannie's eyes when she died.

I pulled out an apple from the fridge, munching on it absently. It felt like a rock in my stomach, and for a second I think it's going to come back up. I swallow hard.

"Are you worried?" Beau asks. I almost laugh.

"Of course I'm worried," I say.

"Don't be," Beau says. I shake my head. I've received this talk one too many times, and I wasn't in the mood to hear it now. "Don't be worried Fords. We have never needed to add our names more than we need to. You'll be ok," Beau says quietly. I wish I could believe him.

But I don't.

I finish my apple, tossing it in the trash. Beau and Daryl resume their staring contests with their breakfast and I retreat to my room to change. I jump when I see my mother in my room, ironing my reaping clothes. "Sorry I startled you," she says gently. She is the spitting image of gentle. Petite frame, wavy blonde hair and kind brown eyes.

I grimace at the sight of my clothes laid out on the bed, another reminder of the inevitable reaping.

"This used to be your father's," my mother says gently. She holds the dress shirt in her arms delicately, as if it were a wounded bird. I'm a little taken aback by her little speech about my dad. He had died a month after my sister was born, so I hardly remember whom he was. My siblings and mother spoke of him fondly. It almost makes me angry. It felt as if it were a big secret my family shared, one that I wasn't a part of. Bannie wasn't a part of it either.

But it's not like she can complain about it anymore. Not that she ever did. In fact, the mere topic of our father nearly bored her to tears. In fact, when my mother was sharing a story about my father's teenage years Bannie lashed out at her.

"Why should I care about some guy I've never even met!" Bannie had yelled. My mother too stunned to even say anything, just sat there with a shocked look on her face. Everyone had froze, the sound of forks scraping on plates ceasing. "Bannie," Daryl said in warning. She didn't listen. "No, you listen. I don't even remember my own father and you all sit here, part of some secret little club I can't even join!" My mother had been too shocked to be angry, but she recoiled quickly. "That guy is your father. You may not remember him, but he loved you. All of you," she had said, glancing at each one of us. I looked down at my food, chewing on my lip. Bannie, who then had tears streaming down her eyes, grabbed my hand from under the table. "Fords, you understand, don't you?" She had asked it with such sorrow I choked on the grief radiating from her body. I didn't say anything in fear of upsetting my mother even more, but I squeezed her hand from under the table to let her know I was on her side. Her fingers felt limp in mine, and I had known I said the wrong thing. Maybe it was what I hadn't said, but I was more worried about my mother at the time than her.

Bannie was strong. My mother wasn't.

My mother had stormed out of the kitchen, locking herself in her room the rest of the evening. We never spoke of my father after that. Bannie was happy with the new arrangements.

Hearing my mother speak of my father so casually was so surprising I chocked on my own spit. She gave me a puzzled look, and then resumed to ironing my clothes. I stood in awkward silence, silently screaming at her to leave. Eventually, she gets the hint and exits, leaving my reaping clothes behind.

I shudder.

After throwing on some shoes and clothes, I exit before any of my family members notice. When I exit the confines of our house, I break into a sprint, running as fast as I can to Pine's house.

Pine only lives two miles away, but the hot air makes it seem longer. The breeze only stirs the heat in my face, so the wind provides little relief. My legs seem to awaken, thankful for the stretch after remaining dormant for so long. My breaths come out easily, and I blink slowly. My body was built for running. I was built for running.

Running was built for me.

I slow once I reach Pine's house. Jogging briskly, I bound up the steps to her front door. I wipe the sweat from my brow, and knock on the door. When the door opens, I see its Pine's younger brother Ailand. Only at thirteen, he is almost taller than Pine. But almost everyone was taller than Pine.

"Is Pine here?" I ask. He nods his head in affirmation, and I smile. He was very quiet, but a nice kid. "Pine, Fords is here!" he hollers behind him. "I'm coming!" Pine says faintly. Over Ailand's shoulder I can see her bounding down the steps, her light brown hair bouncing. She steps behind her brother, smiling at me. "Hi," she says. I smile back, pointing behind me. "Ready to go?" I ask. She nods her head, and steps outside with me. In the bright sunlight, the blonde in her light brown hair seems highlighted. Her dark brown eyes seem sad, but she tries to hide it with a smile. I don't bother asking if she's ok.

I know she isn't.

"Today is the day," she says quietly. I nod.

After a few moments of silence, Pine takes note of the sweat on my face and body. "Jesus Ford, did you sprint here?" I laugh, and I see her crack a small smile. She looks at her wrist, a look of alarm spreading across her face. "Shoot, we're going to be late!" she exclaims.

"Well," I begin, "I guess we better run."

Running with Pine was like running with the wind itself. "I would race you," she says in between gulps of air, "but I know you would lose." I roll my eyes, speeding up a little bit. She runs side by side with me, our legs and arms moving in the same rhythm. I don't know how she manages it, especially since my legs are significantly longer than hers. Usually she falls a few steps behind me, but close enough that I could feel each flutter of breath that exits her mouth. This time, she stays next to me the whole time. It felt like waking up again.

As we sprint past Pine's neighborhood, I get distracted by the tall oak trees that tower above the squat houses. The leaves sported a thick, deep green. Each lungful of air brought the nutty aroma of the bark and the grass, and my whole body seemed to unwind. As we neared the safety of the forest, I slowed down a little. Pine followed suit until we were at nothing but an easy jog. We took a sharp turn to the left when we saw the jagged boulder that served as the landmark to the Falls, pushing our legs up the steep hill. At the top, we stopped, trying to regain our breath. I scanned the area for Glass, grinning when I saw him skipping stones by the rocky shoreline of the stream. The water gushed over the rocks noisily, and the pine trees surrounding the area swayed in the hot breeze. Despite the unbearable heat, it was a glorious day. There wasn't a cloud in the sky.

When I snap out of my daze I see that Pine has already started to climb down the cliff that lead to the shore. That was the fastest way to get down to the shore, but also the most dangerous. The path Pine takes to climb down is right next to the stream of rushing water, so the rocks are slick. One slip of the foot and you were dead. It was over a one hundred foot drop, and there were more rocks at the bottom as well. There was a path you could take that went around the waterfall, but we almost always get to the shore this way. I follow Pine shortly after, relying on muscle memory to scramble down.

The spray of water hits the back of my neck mercilessly, but I relish the pure bliss that follows. After all of this running and heat, it was a nice to change to get sprayed by cold water. The rocks were gritty underneath my fingers, but that helped me grip them tighter. In less than two minutes Pine and I manage to climb down, and we jog over to where Glass is sitting. "Took you guys long enough," he says. "But we ran here," Pine protests. I sat down on the sandy ground next to Glass, elbow to elbow. His black hair was shiny in the sun, and his blue eyes seemed to dance with a happiness I so often saw in them.

We sat in comfortable silence, side by side, while Pine threw various sized stones into the water. "She still doesn't remember who I am," Glass finally says. I frown, silently wishing he would just get over Lele and move on. "You have to give her time to heal," I say. He shakes his head, and my heart breaks for him even more. His sweetheart, Lele, had been suffering from amnesia for almost three weeks now. Glass told me she fell out of a tree when they were climbing, and that her memory has suffered greatly from it. It's been really hard on him, and I can only imagine what he must feel like.

I see a tear trickle down his cheek, but I don't acknowledge it.

Neither of us do.

"Why did you guys get so quiet all of a sudden?" Pine asks with her backed turned to us. I don't say anything, and neither does Glass. When she turns around, a look of worry crosses her face. She sits cross-legged in front of Glass, taking his hands in hers. "You're thinking about Lele, aren't you?" Glass nods meekly, almost as if he is ashamed. "Well, don't worry. She'll feel way better after a few weeks, and everything will be back to normal," she says encouragingly. Glass shakes his head, almost angrily. "No, I don't think you get it Pine. I was going to propose to her," he says. Shock smacks me in the face, and I see that Pine is just as surprised as I am. I knew that he loved her, but not that much. "Marry her?" I ask. Glass was three years older than me, but eighteen still seemed way too young to get married. "I love her," Glass said weakly. "I know," Pine says gently. Pine looks up at us now, his eyes filled with sorrow. "What if she never remembers me?" he asks. I shake my head, mimicking Pine's reaction.

"She will," I say.

"How do you know?" Glass says. "She will, Glass. I know it," I say, more sure this time. She has to remember him. She will remember him.

After a long moment of no one saying anything, Pine breaks the silence. "God, what if I get reaped?" Glass and I both turn to look at her so quickly my neck cracks from the sudden movement. Pine's eyes are filled with fear, something I have never seen before. Pine was never afraid before the reaping. It was a confidence I didn't even know I person could possess, and it was one of things I admired about her. She shakes her head, stuttering. "I-I'm scared, you guys. I'm scared." I consider holding her hand, but I decide against it. "We're all afraid," Glass says. Pine shakes her head, almost as if she doesn't she believe him.

I keep my gaze trained on her hands, still mulling over the fact if I just moved my fingers two inches our hands would be touching. Before I can even decide if I should touch her, she unconsciously overlaps her fingers on mine when she shits position. I freeze, not sure if I should move or point out that she is willingly touching my hand. I stare at our hands, now a jumble of fingers, and decide not to say anything. Pine never looks down at our hands, but she doesn't move either.

Neither of us do.

Having Pine's hand touch mine was like holding a live butterfly. Her fingers would twitch every so often; sending tingles all up my arm. Pine and Glass talk about school, and everything that doesn't involve the Reaping. An attempt at distracting our minds from the chance of being chosen to die. We sit and talk for nearly three hours. At about eleven, Glass announces that we should head home to get ready for the reaping. We all slowly make our way back, taking each time with every footfall. The closer we got to the town, the more anxious I felt. The cameramen and peacekeepers were already starting to mull about, readying the square for the Reaping. After parting ways with Glass, Pine and I are left at her front porch. "I'll see you at the Reaping," I say gently. She nods her head, and then scurries inside. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine her hand on mine again.

I turn and run home, trying to swallow my worry.

When I walk through the door, I see Beau sitting in the kitchen. He's hunched over, looking about a million years older. I enter the kitchen, sitting across from him. I notice he's looking at a large array of papers strewn across the table. Probably the stock rates from the lumber yard. "You were out for a long time," he says. He doesn't look up, even when I respond. "I was with my friends," I say. He doesn't say anything else. I leave the kitchen, and head into the bathroom to take a shower. I don't bother waiting for it to heat up, so I step in while it's cold. Icy droplets tumble over my eyes and nose, numbing my sore muscles.

I close my eyes, trying to imagine what would happen if I was picked. I would have to leave my mother and brothers. Pine, and Glass. I shudder at the thought, pressing the heel of my hand to my chest to dull the aching pain. I was afraid. I hated to admit it to myself.

But I was afraid.

After my shower, I hastily put on my Reaping clothes. I draw out all my movements, trying to stall as long as possible. My mother calls from the kitchen, saying we need to leave in thirty minutes. My hands start to shake, but I clench my fists. I will not be afraid. I won't. I can't. I need to be strong for my mother, and my brothers. But most importantly, for myself.

The thirty minutes go by slowly. I spend most of the time sitting in the kitchen, staring at the clock. For a moment the second hand freezes, and all is silent. I almost think time has stopped, but I hear Daryl's deep voice in the living room and decide that I was just imagining things. I tap my fingers against the wooden table, trying to find a way to distract my mind. I count the cracks in the wall, each piece of floorboard; even my own heartbeat. Useless. Everything was useless. Nothing could slow the thud of my heart.

A small hand rests on my shoulder, and I jump. When I look up, I see its Beau. "Time to go," he says grimly. I nod curtly, emotion leeching out of my body. I silently wonder if Pine is crying, and if Glass is thinking about Lele.

When we get outside, the light is blinding. I squint, shielding my eyes from the sun. Daryl, Beau, my mother and I silently walk side by side. I look over at my mother, her face creased with worry. I wonder why she even bothered to have four kids, if they were to be reaped each year. I swallow hard.

The town square had weak attempts at decoration. A few limply hanging posters, one even torn down. I chew on my lip, wondering who had the nerve to do that. Eventually, we make it to the center of the town square, the heat relentlessly beating down on us. Beau crushes me in a hug, and Daryl ruffles my hair in affection. "Good luck," Beau says. We part ways, each of us going into our designated age groups.

I stand stiffly with the rest of the 15 year olds, nodding my head at a few companions at school. I scan the crowd, looking for Glass and Pine. I see Daryl, and I silently scream at him to look my way.

I wipe my hands on my pants, trying to calm down. Now was not the time to be afraid.

I tune out the video presentation they always show, rambling on about the Dark Days. These days seem pretty dark to me, so I think this video is really out of context. I glare at out District escort, watching as he nods his head stupidly at the video. His green hair was a poor replica of the abundance of trees in this District, and he wears the shiniest pants I have ever seen. Glinting and silvery, he looks like a plastic doll that would show up in my nightmares. Even in the blistering heat, he wears a thick fur coat that makes his frame seem 20 times larger. Enormous sunglasses cover most of this wrinkle-free face, and I look down. These people make my eyes hurt.

Once the video ends, Geoff sighs, almost in annoyance. "Alright. Let's begin. We will start with the girls," he says. He digs his hand deep into the glass bowl, and I squeeze my eyes shut, praying that it won't be Pine.

"Blair Lancaster," Geoff says. I nearly let out a sigh of relief, but I freeze when I see the girl walking up on stage.

Walking stiffly through the crowds is the skinniest girl I have ever seen in my entire life. Her cheek bones jutted out of her face, her collarbone popping out so much it looked like her neck was broken. She was a walking skeleton, with only a curtain of skin draped around her thin bones.

She wears a dark green dress, loose in strange places. It almost looks like she's wearing a sheet, because it looks so huge on her. Her face shows no emotion at all as she stiffly walks up to the stage. I swallow hard, closing my eyes again. This girl was going to die.

I mentally slapped myself for thinking something so cruel, but I almost couldn't help it. "How old are you?" Geoff asks. "15," she says quietly.

15. She was so small I almost thought she was lying.

"Very well," Geoff says. "Are there any volunteers?" he asks. I roll my eyes, annoyed he would asks such a stupid question. No one has volunteered in our District. Ever.

But I can't help from hoping that someone will take the place of this poor girl, someone who clearly doesn't deserve to die.

There is a long pause, and Geoff sighs in annoyance. "This would not be the case in District 1," he says a little louder than he should. He tries to smile, acting like it's a joke, but no one laughs.

"Time for the boys," Geoff says after an awkward pause. His voice is lower now, monotone. I can tell he's bored, and my fists clench at my sides. I will it to not be me, hoping his fingers won't grip my name. I bite my lip so hard it draws blood, and I hold my breath.

Geoff pulls a slip out of the glass ball, holding it daintily in his hands. He opens it up slowly, and you could almost hear every collective intake of breath. Please don't be me.

Geoff clears his throat, and then reads the name loud and clear. "Fords Ryland."

I close my eyes.

Me.

They picked me.

Of all the names, they picked me.

I open my eyes, focusing on a tall oak tree standing behind the town hall. Some of the people in my age group have stepped away, creating a path towards the center. I don't look for my brothers, or my friends. I stare straight ahead, trying to repress my fear. This can't be about hoping I won't get picked anymore. Now it's about winning.

As I walk up to the stage, my heart rate starts to pick up. Don't be afraid. "And how old are you?" Geoff asks, with less verve this time. I hesitate. For a split second, I forgot my age. "15," I say flatly.

I hated all of this. I hated this man. I hated everything about right now. "Are there any volunteers?" Geoff asks. I scan the crowd, searching for my brothers. I spot Beau, and he looks down before I can make eye contact with him. "I guess not," Geoff says, a little disappointed. "Well, I guess you'll have to do," he sighs. "Behold, District 7's tributes for the 15th annual Hunger Games!" He says this with boredom clearly evident in his voice.

No one claps.

I don't expect them to.

Before I know it, we are whisked away, into the plush velvet rooms of the town hall. I clench and unclench my fingers, trying to think.

I'm going into the Hunger Games.

The door creaks open, and my brothers stand awkwardly in the doorway. I stand up, and they embrace me in a hug. I don't ask them why they didn't volunteer for me, but I don't expect them to. Beau pulls away, determination shining behind the sadness in his eyes. "You can win," Beau says. "You're fast. Faster than all of them. You can make it," he says, more firmly. I swallow hard, willing myself to believe his words. "Where's Mom?" I ask. Daryl swallows hear, averting his eyes. "She…can't handle this right now.

I try not to be angry, but I can't help it. If anyone can't handle what's happening, it should be me. How could she not want to say goodbye to her own son?

Goodbye.

This is goodbye.

Daryl gives me one last hug, and Daryl ruffles my hair. "You can do this," Daryl says.

"We love you," Beau adds. I close my eyes, nodding my head. Peacekeepers come in to take them away, and I struggle to swallow my fear. A few minutes pass, and then Glass walks in.

"Dude," he begins, "you're screwed." I laugh, happy to let some of my hysterics out. The fear replaces any joy that once lingered quickly. "You're coming home, right?" He asks, sitting in the velvet chair across from me.

"I hope," I say. He nods his head slowly, and I can tell he's struggling to remain calm.

"Win for me, ok?" he says after a long pause. I hesitate, not wanting to make any promises.

"I'll try," I say. He sighs, looking down. He stands up suddenly, arms outstretched to welcome me into an embrace. I hug him, something we almost never do anymore. "Good luck," he whispers. He leaves without being escorted.

A few minutes pass again, and then Pine enters. When she sees me her eyes instantly flood with tears, and she puts a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. "Oh my god," she says through her hand. She crosses the room and throws her arms around my neck, crying into my chest. I hold her tightly, trying to hold back my own tears as well. She pulls away, wiping her tears.

She holds my hands tightly in hers. "You have to win. Forget about everyone else. This is about your survival. You need to come back." I nod my head, trying to be brave for her. "Oh my god," she says again. She buries her face in my chest, her damp cheeks soaking my shirt. "It had to be you," she mumbles.

I think of this morning, how happy we all were in the woods. It seems like millions of years ago now.

We jump when a peacekeeper opens the door, and she turns back to face me, fear written all over her face.

"Goodbye Fords," she says. She stands on her tiptoes, and presses her lips to mine. I stumble back a little, shocked. For a moment I forget about everything. The Games, my brothers, and even the peacekeeper watching this unfold. All I can think about is how warm her lips are. She crushes her lips to mine frantically, to the point where it almost hurts. The peacekeeper pulls her away, and her cheeks are flushed. She makes no move against the man holding her down, but tears stream down her face.

"I love you," she whispers. The doors slam shut.


	9. District 8 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): The Reapings are really starting to flood in now. If you haven't gotten yours in yet, try to soon because the sooner we get them done, the sooner we can move on.**

**Paisley "Blue" Button, 13 (written by TheSnowyAngel)**

**District 8 Female**

"Ouch!" my mother exclaims. She sucks the blood out of her thumb then continues sewing. Father and I walk into my bedroom where my mother and grandmother will help me get ready. Mother sews the last stitch and uses her teeth to cut the thread.

"There. It's complete," she says and shows me the dress.

"Thank you mother, it's beautiful," I say and give her a kiss on the cheek. My name is Paisley Button. I'm 13, that means today is my 2nd reaping. My family isn't like the others in District 8, for one, we have a strong Chinese Heritage. Well, on my mother's side at least.

"Now go on sweetie," mother says. "Put your dress on and I'll do your hair."

My father takes this as his cue to leave and walks out of the room. I walk into the bathroom and slip on my Cheongsam; it's Chinese for 'long dress'. It's the traditional dress of the Chinese. This particular one is special to my family. It's been with the Chan's (my mother's family name) for generations, passed down from mother to child for at least 30 years. Since the Capitol only gives us the 'privilege' to wear nice clothes on reaping day, mother intends to make the most out of it.

Every year, she undoes the stitches and sews it again to fit my growing figure. This is the only nice thing I have in my dresser. The dress is pearl white and falls to my thighs. It has golden dragon embroidery, the symbol of the Emperor. My feet slip into matching sandals and I step out of the bathroom. Mother tells me to twirl for her and I do. I can see the tears in her eyes start to fall.

"My little Blue has grown up," mother says. Blue is the nickname given to me since birth. The umbilical cord wrapped around my neck tightly and my face turned blue. Luckily the mid-wife managed to unwrap it before anything bad happened. Father said something along the lines of: "That's my tough baby girl, Blue." Somehow it just stuck.

Mother tells me to take a seat on the chair in front of her. I pull out my hairband and my hair falls to my waist. She grabs the hairbrush beside her and lightly runs it through my long black hair.

"Paisley," she says, "Remember to tell your children about this moment when you brush their hair. This is your way to remember me when I am gone."

"Yes mother."

She ties my hair into a simple bun and sticks in a wooden hairpin to secure it. "There. You're ready."

"Wait!" I turn and see grandmother walk towards me, the knocking of her wooden cane makes a 'thump, thump, thump' with every step she takes. She pulls out a small red peony and slips it above my left ear. "I picked it today," she says and gives me a smile.

We exchange positions with grandmother sitting on chair and me standing beside her. Mother brushes her hair like she did with mine and ties it into a bun. Despite her old age of 75, my grandmother is still glowing with beauty.

Mother helps her to stand while I retrieve her cane that leans against the wall. "Come on," grandmother says. "We better get moving." I admire my grandmother's kind but stern nature; it's what keeps the home in running order. Father greats us as we walk out of my bedroom and has a playful expression on his face.

"Excuse me Miss," he says. "I can't seem to find my daughter. And I can't help noticing you're wearing her dress."

"Father, it's me!" I giggle.

"Just kidding Blue. You look so grown-up and beautiful. I really can't recognize you."

"It's true," my mother says.

* * *

><p>I give my parents and grandmother a light bow before walking towards the check-in station. As I stand in line, I see some peacekeepers separating a mother from her 12-year-old child. She falls to her knees and sobs as the peacekeeper tugs on her son's arm roughly and pulls him away. I hate the Capitol. But I need to keep my feelings down. Otherwise, there will be consequences.<p>

I bow politely at peacekeeper that takes my blood. He raises an eyebrow at me and waves a hand to dismiss me. "Respect everyone," my grandmother says, "it doesn't matter if they are good or evil. You are a kind girl and you must be respectful."

I take a spot with the other 13-year-olds at the farthest corner. The reason why I do this is because I don't want to attract attention. Boys torment me while girls talk behind my back and spread rumors. It has something to do with my father's rank in the factory. He is the manager, which is the highest rank there is. Any higher and the title would belong to someone from the Capitol. Adults despise him because of jealousy so it's natural for their children to do the same with me.

As the minutes pass, I watch as the other children file in. The 12-year-olds cling to the older sibling's arm tightly as they walk towards the check-in, 17 and 18-year-olds glare at the peacekeepers before turning their attention back to the stage. I see a young couple, about 16; kiss each other goodbye before checking in and walking towards their respective pens. Why do they this? Don't punish us! What did we do? Exist?

I'm dragged out of my thoughts as our escort, Shay Lockheart, flounders up the stage. Her creepy peacock dress prevents her from walking with ease. The feathers on her back, brush against one of the victor's nose. He sneezes then glares at Shay. Either she chooses to ignore it, or is oblivious.

She taps a scrawny finger onto the mic. It produces a high-pitch sequel that echoes throughout the square, everyone covers their ears and scrunches their faces. "Welcome District 8, to the reaping of the 15th Annual Hunger Games!" She starts to clap like a maniac, but everyone else is silent.

She coughs, breaking the awkward silence and continues her speech. "Well, I guess it's time to show you all a special recording, all the way from the Capitol!" On cue, the screen behind her starts to play. At this point, I completely zone out and start to look for my family. They are at the back, with the other parents. Father gives me a small wave and I smile back at him.

Soon the video ends and Shay clears her throat. "Now, let's start!" She walks towards the girl's bowl and sticks her hand in. I don't bother to think about how many times my name is in the bowl. Grandmother says that this all comes down to fate.

Suddenly the girls in my section clear their path. I look at them confused. Everyone has his or her eyes on me. Oh no, they only do this for one reason.

"Are you Paisley?" Shay locks eyes with me, and I gulp. "You there, with the… weird dress thingy."

I feel a sharp pain on my back; a peacekeeper has come to collect me. He pokes me with his baton and forces me towards the stage; I place one foot in front of the other. They feel heavy, like a pile of rocks. We make our way through the crowd and up the steps towards Shay.

Up close, I can see her medium tanned skin. She smiles at me, reveling a dimple on her right cheek. She has no pimples, no blemish whatsoever. If it weren't for her ridiculous clothing, she would be the prettiest woman alive.

She yanks my shoulder and I stumble towards her. My sandals make loud thumping sounds on the stage. Shay walks back to the mic. "Now, the boys!" she says excitedly. As she mixes the cards around, I feel some tears wet my cheeks.

"Gabriel Newman!"

A young boy walks up the stage, casually, like this is no big deal. He holds his head up high but I feel him trembling inside, just like me. He's a lot older than I am, 16 at least. There's no way I can fight him. I'm going to die.

Shay tells us to shake hands and we do. His grip is strong. I can imagine his hands around my neck, squeezing tightly. "Give it up for our District 8 Tributes!" Shay says.

People start to clap, glad that they haven't been chosen and glad that I'll be gone. Mother has tears in her eyes, and they aren't the happy ones from this morning.

* * *

><p>The doors burst open and my family runs to hug me. Mother lets out a loud sob, she holds onto me tightly and I do the same with her. I breathe in her scent, she smells like sweet flowers. Father is the strong one, he strokes my hair gently and I cry into his chest, my tears soak his shirt. "I c-can't do this," I say shakily. "I-I can't k-kill anyone."<p>

"Paisley, listen to me," grandmother says. "There is no honor in hurting others, but there is also no honor in death." I turn to grandmother in surprise. She's the one who tells me to be kind to others, despite their cruelty to me, to be polite to others, as I want them to be with me. And now, she's telling me to kill. Grandmother pulls both our hairpins out then gives me hers.

"This has also been in the family for generations." I stare at the golden hairpin, it has different coloured beads tied to the ends.

"Wear our family symbol with pride." She uses a finger to lift my chin up. "Keep your head up high, don't back down. Just come home to us." Grandmother pulls me into a tight hug. "I love you, my beautiful grandchild."

"I love you too grandmother." I use this moment to study all their faces. Mother is beautiful with her black hair and dark blue eyes while father has brunette hair and black eyes, similar to mine. Grandmother has white hair with traces of black, her eyes are like mother's, dark blue. This will be the last thing I think of before I go.

Suddenly the peacekeepers barge in and whisk my family away. "We love-" They don't even get a chance to finish their sentence. I don't know if I can live up to my promise.

I'm going to die.

**Gabriel "Gabe" Newman, 17 (written by Grand Coconut)**

**District 8 Male**

I wake up to the sound of chaos and rushed footsteps outside of my bedroom door. I hear my brother and sister arguing about who spilled the milk on her outfit and I smell cinnamon rolls and breakfast baking in the kitchen. No one has come to wake me up yet, which is weird. Plus the sun has just peeked it's head over the factory rooftops, so I can't help but wonder why everyone is up so early on a Sunday. It's the _weekend_ after all.

Then I remember, the reaping is today.

I scoff as I roll out of bed, my blankets falling on the floor as I get up. It is so like me to forget that such a huge event is today. The reaping is only the most terrifying and daunting day of the year, I wonder how many other people in the district have let it slip their mind as well. Probably zero.

The truth is, the reaping doesn't scare me that bad. I mean it used to, but over the years I've realized that I'm probably not gonna get reaped anyways and worrying about something that hasn't happened yet is pretty silly. I've made it through five reapings already and nothing happened to me then, so the same can probably be said about today and next year as well.

And even if I did get reaped, I'd probably be kind of excited in a weird way. After all, it would sure be a hell of an adventure.

I like surprises, it keeps things exciting.

I walk to my door with heavy feet, sleepiness still in my system, and open it up. The bright lights from the hallway flood my room and I close my eyes for a second until they adjust. I am beginning to look around when my mom's screeching voice pierces my ears.

"Oh my god, why aren't you dressed yet?" Her eyes are wide like a frog and she looks ready to panic. I flinch at her loud voice. Something inside of me twangs irritation and I can't help but stare at her like she's an idiot.

"If you wanted me awake earlier, you should have woke me up yourself." I say with an attitude as I stand in my doorway.

"I expected you to wake yourself up! You're seventeen years old, Gabe. Is a little responsibility too much to ask?" She says dramatically.

"It's _Sunday_." I spit.

"It's _Reaping Day_." She says right back, then disappears back into the kitchen before I can get the last word in. "Get ready." I hear her say from the other room.

I have half a mind to go back to bed just simply because she told me to get ready, but I decide not to. I grab a towel off the dryer and walk to the bathroom. I have a defiant streak, I can't deny that, but I don't have a stupid one. I know that if I even ATTEMPTED to skip the reaping, the peacekeepers would be on me in an instant and I just don't feel like dealing with that today.

I shower and brush my teeth more quickly than I usually do and hop out, my wet feet splattering water onto the tile floor. I wrap the blue towel around my waist and walk out of the bathroom, the steam following me down the hall as I leave.

When I get back in my room, I grab some clothes off of my dresser and toss them onto my bed. I'm not really in the mood to dress up today, so I don't care what clothes I grab, all that matters is that they're clean. I pull on my underwear and tug a crisp white t-shirt over my head and yank it down. The fresh smell of laundry detergent lingers in my clothes and smells gentle and nice, like a fresh breeze. I take a pair of denim jeans out of the bottom drawer and pull them on too. As I button my pants up, I walk over to my mirror and look at my reflection to make sure I still look alright since the last time I checked.

And I do. My blonde hair sits short and neat on my head and my eyes are just as blue as they were last time I looked. I think I'm a pretty good looking guy. I always had relativity good skin from my mom's side and my teeth never grew in crooked. Unlike my brother and sister, I never needed braces when I was in middle school. They say I should be thankful. Apparently they're no fun.

But looks were never something I've obsessed over anyways. I've always been more interested on what's on the inside. Like blood and guts! No, I'm kidding. I like people based off of their heart. Their personality, their dreams, their ideas and aspirations. If you can stimulate my mind, then looks don't really matter as much.

By the time I'm ready to leave, my mom is still waiting for my sister to change clothes, so I just decide to leave without them. The town square isn't that far from my house anyway, and there's no way I want to walk anywhere alongside my deadbeat dad.

I step out the front door and follow the sidewalk until I'm exiting the neighborhood. I know the sky should be more blue than this, but this district is so polluted with factory smoke, it only looks grayish at best. I honestly do get sick of this place at times, but I don't see a way out. People usually stay in the district they're born in all their life. It's just how things work.

I walk with relaxed posture and my head held high as I enter the town square. I know I exude confidence and security, something so rare to find on reaping day. Kids know me from school, but don't say much more than "Hi" and "How are you" as I walk by. I let the guy at the sign in table prick my finger and then I move onto the seventeen year old's section as the ceremony begins.

The guy standing next to me is actually quivering with nerves as the mayor gives his short, scripted speech.

"You okay?" I ask him quietly, glancing his direction.

He lets out a nervous laugh. "Yeah I'm fine, thanks. Just a bit scared." He replies quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

"Ah." I say with a nod, understanding him. I raise my head and see the escort, Shay something walk onstage in a very richly colored peacock inspired dress. Her deep green hair is tied into a tight, high bun and her skin is tan and smooth, kind of like caramel.

A lot of district people say they hate capitol fashion, but I don't. I think it's usually really creative and fantasy like. Clothes can be a way of self expression, art even. I don't hate her wild dress as much as the kids around me apparently do. I can tell because of their giggles and stares as she rolls a film of the dark days and what not.

After it's over, she walks over to the girls' bowl and draws out a name. It all happens pretty quickly.

"Paisley Button." She says into the microphone.

I look over in the girls' direction and search for her. I don't know any Paisley's, so I have no idea who she could be. After a moment though, the girls in the thirteen year old's section spread out, revealing a small Asian looking girl in a satiny white dress that looks like the ones Chinese people wear.

She looks confused for a moment, and then before she knows it, peacekeepers are escorting her up to the stage. As she passes me by, I notice a golden dragon is embroidered onto her dress, curving up her side.

As she walks onto the stage, I see some tears fall down her cheeks and I frown slightly in sympathy. _Poor kid_, I think to myself.

Before I know it, Shay is drawing a name out of the boys' bowl and I can't help but wonder who it will be. I don't really care since my brother is nineteen now and can't be reaped. The only one left I really care about being reaped is myself.

"Gabriel Newman."

And what a coincidence. Right as I think I'm safe, my name gets called. You know what, actually this would be just my luck. Something like this _would_ happen to me.

I always seem to be the one that gets singled out.

As I slip into the isle, I don't feel as nervous as I imagined myself being. Kids stare at me and I hear some whispers, but I don't feel stiff, uptight, or anything. My limbs are loose and my posture is confident and tall, like it usually is.

_I guess I'm the one going on an adventure this year_, I think as a small smirk crosses my face.

* * *

><p>I'm escorted to the justice building with the Paisley kid, who is trying to stop crying, but can't seem to. I don't cry though. I don't feel the waterworks begin and I don't really want them to either.<p>

My mom bursts into the goodbye room alongside with my older brother and little sister. Now _she_ is crying, but then again she cries a lot. I expect the dramatics to be on full blast today.

"Oh, my son. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I yelled at you this morning. I didn't know this was going to happen. I'm sorry!" She says through tears, squeezing the life out of me in a hug. "I love you, never forget!" Over her shoulder, I can see my brother and sister crying too, only they aren't as theatrical as mom.

I laugh breathlessly as I peel mom off of me. "What? You act like I have no chance." I say with a smile. "Have you forgotten who I am? I'm smart as a whip! I can come back."

This makes my older brother, Nate, smile a little, but he still cries. "God, Gabe, I just hope your big mouth doesn't get in the way." He sighs as he wraps me in a strong hug, my mom still sobbing in the background. "I know you can come home, but you gotta watch yourself in there. You have a tendency to piss people off."

I laugh and try to shove the negativity aside. I knew the goodbyes would be a drag to get though, but all this moping around is just dampening my mood. I believe in myself. Why don't they?

"And another thing, you're so freaking loyal. Don't let that bite you in the ass." Nate says as he lets go of me. "Don't trust the wrong people. Because I KNOW you. You'd take a bullet for those you care about."

I shrug. My younger sister just wraps me in a hug without saying anything.

My mom wails as the peacekeepers tell her it's time to go and hugs me one last time. "I love you! I love you so much. Don't you forget it!" She sobs as the peacekeepers yank her off of me. In the madness, I only catch one last glimpse of my family before the door slams shut.

After that, a few friends from school come to say farewell, but I'm disengaged. I thank them for coming to see me and put on a smile, but inside I'm over the goodbyes. They're all so depressing.

My last visitor is someone who makes my blood run hot though.

"What do you want." I spit as my dad walks in the room.

He stops before he can reach me and his eyes soften. "I'm coming to say goodbye to my boy." He says like he's surprised at my venomous voice. "Look Gabe, I know I've been tough on you, but-"

"Tough on me?" I interrupt in a flabbergasted voice. "You _abused_ us. You beat the hell out of me, Nate, and Rosie for years and you think that was being _tough_ on us? You can't possibly think I'm gonna forgive you for that. You disgust me. I hate you so god damn much, will you just leave now? I don't wanna see your face ever again."

Dad looks speechless as he furrows his brow in frustration. "Why you ungrateful little-" He begins.

"Get out!" I yell in an angry voice as I stand up, clenching my fists. I can't let him walk all over me anymore.

Suddenly, the peacekeepers burst in the room and I tell them to get rid of him. They listen and take dad by the arms and pull him backwards. He tries to fight them, but they yank him out the door. On the way out, he yells "You little devil's child! This is the last time I ever try to reconcile with you."

I roll my eyes at him. "Yeah, why don't you go home and shove mom into the coffee table again." I call back to him as the peacekeepers take him away.

As he leaves, I try to calm myself, but it takes so long. Even though the anger though, I realize one thing.

I'm finally free.

Free from this stupid place and this messed up family.


	10. District 9 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): Here is another chapter by two great authors. Please review!**

**Ace Calico, 17 (written by xXFighterNotALover)**

**District 9 Male**

Five o'clock and all is well. I pad down to the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of water. I sit by the window and look out at the streets. It's still dark out, but I can see Peacekeeper's lights bobbing along the cobbled road. They're probably heading down to the Circle.  
>The Circle is the town meeting place. It used to be called the square until someone realized that it was actually circular, not square, so now it's called the Circle. They hold important meetings and things there, like the Reapings, which are going to happen in just a few hours. I sigh. Reaping Day is my least favorite day of the year.<br>I finish my glass of water and glance at the clock. Five thirty. Time to wake everyone up, if we're to have breakfast down and be ready to go at ten. With my siblings, everything takes longer than it should, because you have to first prepare arguments about why you have authority and why it should be respected, then use said arguments, then prepare arguments against your siblings' useless ones, then use said arguments, and on and on till you get tired of it and bribe your siblings with candy.  
>I walk slowly down the hall to the room I share with Axel and Dain and grab my outfit from my desk, where I lay it last night. I go to the bathroom, relieve myself, brush my teeth and hair, and then pull on my outfit again. I look in the cracked mirror. I see a seventeen-year-old boy with shaggy, dark red hair, a heavy brow, big, long-lashed blue-gray eyes, and a crooked half-frown, half-smile. I sigh. I'm getting thinner. My naturally stocky frame is muscular from working in the processing factories, and I'm nowhere near as slim as some, but I'm nearing skin and bones from giving all my extra tidbits to the children and Mother. Not that I wouldn't do it in a heartbeat. They need it far more than I do.<br>I file under my nails to get all the dirt out, stick a Q-tip in my ears, wash my face, and look in the mirror. My Reaping Day outfit consists of a white, long-sleeve button-down shirt, a gray sweater-vest-thingy, and soft blue jeans. I haven't put on my only pair of shoes, my weathered black boots yet, and my feet feel like ice cubes, so I pull on a threadbare pair of socks and go back down the hall.  
>Time to wake the others.<p>

I can't stop thinking about the tesserae. So many tesserae.  
>If I got pulled, who would take care of Mother, Axel, Bess, Cara, and Dain? The neighbors do the best they can, I know that, but it's a far cry from enough. They have their own families to take care of. I wouldn't ever want to hinder them from that.<br>Axel is fifteen, and so is his twin, Bess. I have always had a sneaking suspicion that they take over everything while I'm gone, which isn't bad, I suppose. Axel and Bess are what makes the neighbors actually care about us. They both have these magnificently huge brown eyes that, when used properly, could force someone to do just about anything. I guess that's why they're so good at taking care of Cara and Dain.  
>Cara is thirteen, and if I had a favorite sibling, she'd be it. She has red hair, like me, though much longer – she has to sweep it out from under her if she sits down, so usually Bess has to braid it. At least she did, till just a few weeks ago Cara came home with a pixie cut that she'd had the sides of shaved, and a wad of dollar bills. That was the week that Bess was sick and needed cough syrup that we couldn't afford.<br>Cara's hair matches her temper just fine. She's quick to anger and even quicker to raise her voice, but she gets through her anger far quicker than Axel. (Damn, that boy can hold a grudge.) She is a force to be reckoned with. If we had the money, I'd send her to law school, or the debate team. That is, if she lived to be old enough.  
>They're all in the Reapings now. Dain is twelve. Far too young. Axel and Bess took tesserae this year, too. It's not right.<br>"It's not right," I repeat, and a Peacekeeper gives me a weird look, raising her thinly plucked eyebrows. "Um, never mind," I mumble awkwardly. She shrugs and ushers me into the seventeen-year-old's pen. I look across to the thirteen-year-olds and make eye connection with Cara, who waves slightly, and then is angrily subdued by a Peacekeeper, who slaps her hand down with far too much force. Why? She was just waving. I clench my hands at my sides, my chewed nails pressing into my palms. It's not right. She was just waving.  
>I look around for Axel and Bess, who are in the fifteen-year-old pen. My stomach clenches and unclenches when I see Bess in rapid-fire debate with a Peacekeeper, who is staring more at her chest than at her face. Axel is trying to calm her down. That's how it's always been; Bess goes off the hook and Axel coaxes her away from explosion. I dig my nails into my palms so hard that a drop of blood slides down my index finger. She has an opinion too. Why can't she express it? It's not right. She was just waving. She has an opinion too.<br>I glance at Dain's pen. He stands awkwardly in the corner, awkward as he's always been, awkward as I'm sure he'll always be. He's speaking to a girl with a long red braid down her back and a million freckles. As everyone quiets down, he and the girl remain talking. A Peacekeeper cuffs him sharply on the side of the head. He was just making friends. It's not right. She was just waving. She has an opinion too. He was just making friends.  
>"Welcome to the fifteenth Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor," the District Nine escort, Ebony Ground, announces. It's obvious he could care less. He just wants to go home and stare at himself in the mirror some more.<br>This year, Ebony is wearing black slacks and a shiny silver button-down shirt. The silver contrasts against his dark skin. His short black hair has intricate swirls cut into it. He goes on to make a speech about the Dark Days, Panem, and the Capitol. Even though the day is cool, sweat rolls down his temples in big drops. Maybe it's from his cigarette addiction. Everyone knows that Ebony used to be the escort for District Four, but he got kicked up to Nine due to his addiction to smoking. They gave him a chance, but he couldn't stop. Must've been powerful stuff.  
>"And now…" Ebony says. He always says that before picking the tributes. "Ladies first." He says that too. "District Nine's female tribute for these Games is… Talia Sheetz!" Some pretty, very thin, redheaded girl I don't know, or remotely care about, mounts the stage. I realize that sounds cruel, but I've noticed that sometimes, you have to not be sorry for some people, because a person is made to feel only so much pity. I'm reluctant to say that I've used up most of the pity on myself. She looks like she's about sixteen, give or take a year or so. I breathe a silent sigh of relief that it wasn't Cara or Bess.<br>"And now, District Nine's male tribute is"—I hold my breath—"Dain Calico."  
>It's not right. She was just waving. She has an opinion too. He was just making friends.<br>"Wait!" I shout. "Wait! I volunteer as tribute!"

Mother doesn't come to see me. It's not her fault, I know, but it still hurts. She's what all the fancy doctors call "Clinically Depressed", but she doesn't have the money for antidepressants. I've been saving up for her in a secret jar under my bed. There's not much in it, but maybe, one day, I'll have enough. If I make it home from the games I'll easily have enough, but I know I'm not making it home. I don't want to get my hopes up.  
>My morbid train of thought is derailed when Axel, Bess, Cara, and Dain all come in blubbering and exclaiming and throw themselves at me. Axel's eyes are wide. He knows that he's the man of the house now. Bess is holding the blubbering Dain to her. She'll take good care of them, I know she will, but will she take good care of herself?<p>

The next hour is my siblings and I holding each other tightly, and me giving whispered instructions to Axel on how to take care of Cara's frequent scraped knees, what Dain likes on his oatmeal, whether or not Bess is ever allowed to date again (her last boyfriend was some stoner who never washed his hair), and lastly, ever so quietly, telling him about the jar under my bed.  
>When it's time for them to go, they all hug me tightly. I say goodbye, my throat constricted by the huge lump that seems to have taken up residence in it. Dain looks up at me with big blue eyes. "But you're coming back, Ace, aren't you?"<br>It's not right. She was just waving. She has an opinion too. He was just making friends.  
>"Yes," I lie.<p>

**Talia Sheetz, 16 (written by glittergirl20)**

**District 9 Female**

Reaping Day.

I watch my red hair fall to the floor.

"Talia stand still it needs to be perfect." My mom says.

This happens every reaping day. My hair has to be perfectly straight and look perfectly cut. All one length. No split ends. No fly aways. No frizz. No exceptions.

"I'm sorry." I whisper.

"Remember you are supposed to look presentable if your name gets called."

"Yes because I look terrible all the time." I mutter.

She puts the scissors down and turns me around.

"Talia. No sass. This is important. I think the nicer you look the more they will like you. It seems like that is an important factor there." She says with a smile.

I'm sure she's right. Ebony Ground our escort seems to think so. He says he can never wear the same thing twice. I don't understand why that's a waste of clothing and probably expensive. I don't think the escorts get paid a lot. Whatever he gets paid is probably a decent amount of money especially to the people here.

"Now let's get that hair up." She smiles and I turn back around.

She takes some pins and pins back my hair and starts to put my hair in a bun.

"Not so tight." I say as I feel her pulling at my scalp. As if she is trying to scalp me.

"I'm sorry." She says. I know she does this because she is nervous. She has every right to be. After all my name is in there a decent amount. I've been putting my name in since I was fourteen. I know some people have to once they are twelve but my mother forbid that. We had my brother to do that but as time went on it was clear I would have to start putting my name in. The odds aren't really in my favor but I think in this District they never are. We don't have many winners. For a few years we didn't have a mentor to speak of. I would've hated that. I wonder if you could've gotten sponsors that year.

"Alright all done." My mom says and shows me to the mirror. Which is stained from old age. This the only mirror we have in this house.

I look in the mirror and see my red hair in a low bun. My bangs and tapers frame my face perfectly. I will admit I do look pretty. I just wish it wasn't for this reason.

"Talia you look beautiful." I hear and turn around to see my brother.

"Thanks Sven." I say awkwardly to my seventeen year old brother. My brother and I don't exactly get along. It's not just brother sister I hate you stuff. It's more like I think you are insane for thinking that these games go on because Panem is overpopulated and serve as an extreme necessity. That isn't the reason though it's because they like watching people die and punish us from trying to break away. But, really I think they just like watching people suffer.

He looks rather nice as well his brown hair has been brushed instead of the rats nest it usually is. His face and hands are clean of dirt that is usually present.

"You look nice too." I say.

He nods unamused.

"Mom." I say and turn around.

"Yes?" She smiles.

"Can I see Neil before this happens. I want to say goodbye in case… "I can't even say it. In case I get called to my death. It will be my death. I know I can't do anything. There haven't been many winners here, I can't do anything, and one of the people from 1, 2, or 4 could break me like a twig. I would say I have a 98% of making it back. It depends on the arena and luck is always an important factor. Knowing this I just want to see my boyfriend one last time.

"Yes but come back an hour before." She says. "You need to see your father-

"I want to see him mom."

"I know you do sweetie." She says.

I walk out the door.

"Make sure to come back Talia." I hear Sven mutter under his breath.

Where else would I go. I think.

I leave the house and take in the fresh air of the wheat. That is one thing I like about here. This place isn't fancy though. We have dirt roads that lead everywhere. Most of the houses are ranch houses or trailers. They are all the same dull white color. They are all one floor, have a kitchen, two bedrooms, and a small extra space that can be used for whatever. We use it as the sitting area. We don't have much furniture so we usually just sit on the carpet and talk.

I walk past all the houses and stop when I get to the check in spot. If we want to go into town peacekeepers have to check us. Probably to make sure we aren't holding anything that could be illegally sold. That is pretty much a punishment of death. Although people still do it. They are just smart enough to not do it in town. There are a few houses in the neighborhoods where you can trade and buy things. My father does this occasionally when we really can't afford any food.

I wouldn't consider myself starving because when I see those District 12 kids on screen I know I have it better. Not as good but still better.

A peacekeeper pats me down and then allows me to go into town. I head to the tutoring building. Which is where my boyfriend lives. The tutoring center is self explanatory. It helps people who need extra help in school. There is a small fee of course but if a kid really needs help Neil -my boyfriend- does it for free. His parents don't know this because it is messing with their lively hood. They make enough more than the croppers or harvesters make. Which is what my parents and most of the District do.

Neil just thinks someone shouldn't fail just because they don't understand. He knows they aren't stupid. They just need extra help and that is why I initially liked him. He didn't tutor me or anything but it did help that he was so kind.

I walk through the door and see him. Blonde hair, talk and lanky, and those black framed glasses.

He smiles.

"Talia you look nice today." He says.

I walk over towards him and kiss him briefly.

"Thanks you look." I pause he doesn't look that nice. He looks like he does everyday. Then again my mother is obsessed with looking nice on this day. "Decent."

He smiles.

"We can't all look as beautiful as you Talia."

I roll my eyes.

"Thanks, but I kinda wish people wouldn't say that."

"Why? They are just stating a fact Talia."

"Because I only wear my hair like this when it is reaping day." I say. I probably would on any other day but, it just reminds me of the Hunger Games.

"I can still say you look beautiful." He says and kisses my check.

"I like that." I say and can feel myself blush.

"Don't worry Talia. I'm sure you will be fine."

I want to say easy for you to say because he has never needed to put his name in. I'm not angry. We each got a hand dealt for life. I have mine and he has his. It's no ones fault. Well except for the cruel people who started the Hunger Games.

"I love you Talia and I know your name won't get called-

"But what if it does?"

"Just worry about it then." He kisses me. "Okay?"

I smile sheepishly.

"Okay."

My eyes flicker to the clock.

"I should go. I promised my mom I would be back an hour before."

"I only saw you for a few minutes Talia." He says confused.

"I know. I just needed to see you before in case-"

"Talia it will be fine, I will see you right after. Okay?"

"Okay." I say and kiss him again. The I head home.

I walk through the door and see my dad and smile. My dad is impossibly tall and tan from working in the fields all day. He resembles my brother and I resemble my mom.

"Talia." He says and pulls me in for a hug. He smells like the grain that he works with everyday. "I love you." He says.

"Love you too dad." I whisper into his chest.

"Talia it's time to get dressed." I hear my mom says. I let go of my dad and my mom leads me to her room. I see two dresses waiting for me. She usually let's me pick. This year it's the same green one I usually wear and a soft blue one. They aren't fancy just sundresses. The green one has flowers on the bottom that my mom embroidered. I think that's why I like it so much.

"I really think the blue would look nice Talia especially with your porcelain skin.

I sigh. She always wants me to wear the other dress. I think I wear the green because it is sort of a good luck charm. I mean I have worn it every year and nothing has happened. If she doesn't want me to wear it, I don't understand why she keeps altering it so it will fit me. I can tell she really wants me to wear this blue one though.

"Me too." I smile.

My mothers face holds surprise.

"Good I'm glad." I put on the dress and my mom makes sure it is free of wrinkles. She fixes my hair one more time and then we head to the square. Our District is big so only the people being reaped are allowed in. The others just watch on the video feeds.

I walk to the square get my blood taken and head off to where all the other sixteen year old girls stand.

After ten minutes I see our escort Ebony Ground. He has dark ebony skin and his hair is cut short with spirals and strange designs cut into it. He is wearing some strange sliver shiny shirt and black slacks that also shine in the sun. It looks more like a costume than anything else. I wonder if he is wearing makeup. I think he usually does. If he is, it's just not as extreme.

"Hello! Hello and Happy Hunger Games!" He shouts loudly into the mic.

They show the propo video which I stopped watching and listening to because I don't need to listen to the crazy justified reason for this.

"Now wasn't that lovely!" He says and then cears his throat. "Now onto the reaping!" He smiles. "And as always ladies first." He reaches into the big glass bowl. I start to pick at my cuticles a nervous habit I have been doing since I can remember.

He pulls up the paper and starts to open it. It seems like years have past when he says the name. It's my name. Talia Sheetz.

I should've worn the green dress.

I don't remember being on stage all I know now is I'm in a small room in the Justice Building. Waiting to say goodbye to my friends and family. This will be the last time I see them. It feels like my mouth has been stuffed with cotton.

"Five minutes." I hear. I don't know who to expect. I look up and can see my brother.

"Don't cry." He says before I can see anything.

"Fine." I mumble.

"You have to stay strong for mom and dad. At least try to do something. Talia... you are pretty smart."

"Being smart isn't enough." I mutter.

"It can be. You can change the curb."

"What happened to this is happening because Panem is overpopulated?" I ask annoyed.

"I don't want you to die Talia." He says and it is very silent in the air.

"I'm glad to hear that." I say.

"I do love you." He says.

"I love you too." I say.

"Try." He says.

"I will." I say not really believing it but I'm not going to jump off the platform either.

He hugs me awkwardly then leaves.

Next is my friend Sara who I have known forever. We both just cry and say our goodbyes. We don't pretend that I will be coming back.

"Talia." I hear and feel my moms arms around me. My dad is here too and he reaches for my hand. "Let me look at you." She says and puts both of her hands on my cheeks. Her eyes are puffy from tears. She is looking at me intently. Maybe to find something or more likely trying to remember every detail so she won't forget.

She kisses the top of my head.

"I love you sweetie. I love you so much." She whispers and pulls me in closer. She knows I won't be coming back.

"Talia." I hear my dad say. His voice is thick maybe he was crying too.

"Yes?" I say.

"I love you and I know whatever happens you are doing or did your best." He says and kisses my cheek.

I nod not knowing what to say. Peacekeepers take them away a minute later.

"I love them so much." I whisper.

The door opens again I'm expecting to be taken away to the train but I'm not. It's Neil.

"Hi." I say causally like it was any other day.

"Hey." He says and sits next to me and kisses me. I feel a little better. I wish I could use him as my token. I didn't get given one so I guess I won't have one.

"It will be alright Talia." He says and pushes a stray hair behind my ear.

"I doubt that." I say.

"You might be true." He says.

"You're not supposed to say that Neil." I say and shove his shoulder.

"You brought that on." He whispers and kisses my cheek. I know he is right. I did bring that on.

I roll my eyes.

"I just wanted to tell you that no matter what happens in there. Just know I will always love you. Even if you don't come back." He says.

I smile. I feel like crying, but I can't tell if it's from happiness or sadness.

"I love you too." I whisper.

He kisses me and then gets dragged away.

I press my hand to my lips. That might be the last kiss I ever receive.

A few minutes later I'm being dragged to the train. I turn around one last time to see my District. My home. This may be my last chance to look at it because I may never come back. At least alive.


	11. District 10 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): Alright, thinks are just starting up and it's going to be great to get a chapter up. We still need a few more authors so check it out if you want to participate. Elim9 is a great author and has written many excellent SYOTs. I would recommend reading them. Yellint22 is also a wonderful author so you should check out their stories too.**

**Raphael Hume, 17 (written by Elim9)**

**District Ten Male**

_Look down._

I keep my eyes on the ground as we trudge forward through the mud. I don't want to look at them. And they don't want to look at me. But a few of them are watching me, anyway. They can't help looking. They can't help staring.

_Just get through this_.

Just a quick reaping. Two names. Two names, and I can go back home. Back to my parents. Back where no one cares about the scars, because they're simply happy that I'm still alive.

It's been three years now. Three years since they almost lost me. Three years since Puck and Lincoln died.

No, not died. 'Died' sounds too peaceful. Too natural. Three years since my older brothers were killed. Executed. Murdered.

But they left me alive. A lesson. A reminder. A warning to anyone who might think about trying to escape.

That was all we were guilty of, in the end – the three of us. Trying to escape to a better life. It was Puck's idea to make a break for it on the day of the reaping, right after the ceremony. Everyone would be distracted. The Peacekeepers would be busy with the new tributes. There would be so many people, he reasoned, they wouldn't notice if the three of us snuck away.

He was wrong.

We made it past the fences. Barely. The Peacekeepers came out of nowhere. I never found out how they caught us so quickly. Maybe someone saw us leave and tipped them off in hope of a reward. Maybe we tripped some sort of alarm. Maybe they just happened to be patrolling the area. I suppose it doesn't matter now.

They bound our hands and paraded us through the streets and back to the square, still set up for the reaping. They dragged Puck up onstage, took the rope that bound his hands, and threw the other end over a beam that had been erected above our heads. Then they pulled the rope taut, hoisting him up until his feet were lifted off the stage. They tied the rope off and left him hanging there while they did the same to Lincoln, then strung me up on the end beside him.

For a moment, we simply hung there. Waiting. My gaze turned to the crowd, my eyes frightened. Begging. Pleading.

I don't know what I expected. These were the same people who, only an hour before, had stood by while two of their children were taken away to fight to the death. They hadn't stepped in then. And they wouldn't step in now. Not because they were cruel. Not because they didn't care. But simply because they were scared. My parents pushed their way forward to the front of the crowd, but friends and neighbors held them back, knowing that to interfere would mean their deaths.

One of the Peacekeepers raised a whip – an ugly, nine-lashed whip with tiny bits of metal on the ends, designed to tear into the flesh. He struck Puck first, and my brother cried out in pain. Blood seeped through his shirt as the Peacekeeper moved on to Lincoln. I looked away as Lincoln's cries echoed through the square. I knew I was next.

I braced myself, but it did no good. Nothing could have prepared me for the pain, sudden and sharp and tearing. Slicing. Ripping. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, but that did nothing to dull the pain as the whip struck again. Blow after blow. My arms started to go numb from the strain of bearing my weight. I was getting dizzy from loss of blood. Finally, I realized what I should have known all along:

I was going to die.

They were going to kill us. Three boys who had only been trying to get away.

Suddenly, a shot rang out to my right. My eyes flew open, my head jerking suddenly to the side. That was a mistake. In that moment, the whip caught me in the face, the nine lashes digging deep into my flesh. The pain was sudden. Blinding. I blacked out.

When I came to, I was still hanging there, but the crowd had dispersed. All except my parents, still standing there, weeping, as well as a Peacekeeper who stood guard over the three of us. It wasn't long before I realized that "the three of us" now meant myself and the dead bodies of my brothers.

Only later did I learn what had happened. Bloody, broken, and weak, Puck had done the unthinkable. With the last of his strength, he had reached out his leg and tripped one of the Peacekeepers as he passed by. A shot to the head had killed my brother instantly.

With Puck dead and me unconscious, the Peacekeepers had turned their attention to Lincoln. They tore his back to shreds with their whips until he died on the spot. Convinced the same fate awaited me once they realized I was awake again, I closed my eyes and hung as limply as I could, feigning unconsciousness.

It wasn't until later that I pieced together the truth: They'd never had any intention of killing me. Killing people serves as an example, yes, but leaving one of us alive, mutilated, condemned to live in agony and scorn, would serve as an even more chilling example of what they were truly capable of.

So I hung there on display for the district. Barely alive. Drifting in and out of consciousness. Blood dripping to the ground. My arms completely numb, my shoulders aching, my back and my face torn and bloody.

The sun rose higher, then sank again. People came and went. They tried not to look, but they couldn't help themselves. Still my parents stayed, but still the Peacekeeper wouldn't let them near.

It was evening by the time he cut me down. I crumpled into a heap on the stage, broken and bloody and too weak even to cry. My parents took me home. Nursed me back to health. Buried Puck and Lincoln.

Since then, we've tried to pick up the pieces of our old life. But it's been hard. They had to sell most of their flock just to buy the medicine to keep me alive. Puck and Lincoln had always done more than their share; now we were left with the three of us, and, for a long time, I was too weak to help at all.

I've tried to make it up to them. I pull my own weight. I've stayed out of trouble. I've never given the Peacekeepers an excuse to finish what they started. And maybe they don't want to. Maybe they'd rather have it this way.

I don't know which way I'd rather have it. There have been times – times when people's stares became too much, times when the memory of the pain is still too fresh, times when I just want to see my brothers again – when I've thought about ending it. But the thought of my parents stops me every time. I could never do that to them. They've already lost too much.

They won't lose me, too.

"Next."

I hold out my hand obediently and let her draw some blood. I keep my eyes down. I keep moving forward. Nothing that would upset anyone. Nothing that would draw attention.

They stare, anyway.

It's almost funny – in a sick, twisted sort of way. Their lives are in danger. Any one of them could be reaped. They could be on their way to the Capitol in a few hours. And yet they still find the time to point and stare.

A few of them whisper. Maybe they know. Maybe they remember. Or maybe not. Whippings aren't all that uncommon. Except to me and my parents, my beating wasn't anything particularly memorable. _Just another criminal_, they're probably thinking. _Just another pour soul who had the misfortune of upsetting the wrong people._

Maybe that's exactly what I am.

_Keep moving_.

Quietly, keeping to the edge of the section, I take my place by the other seventeen-year-olds. The mud is starting to seep through the bottoms of my shoes. I haven't worn them in a long time, anyway – not since last reaping. Out in the fields, I don't need them, and it saves wear and tear. The less money we spend on new shoes, the more we can spend on food.

Which is also why I'm still wearing the same old, stained brown outfit that I wore to the last reaping. And the one before it. It used to be Puck's, but I've finally grown into it. Not that much of an accomplishment, maybe; Puck was never very big. Not like Lincoln, who always towered over both of us despite being three years younger than Puck. Still, it's one of the few things of his that I have left, and it feels good to be wearing it.

Other than my outfit – which I can't help – I suppose I look fairly presentable. The usual coating of mud has been scrubbed from my hands and face, beneath which my skin is quite tan. My hair, short and dark, is combed back as neatly as I could get it.

_Why bother?_

All they see are the scars. The whip left hideous scars across half my face, leaving my right eye almost blind. And that's all people ever see.

Maybe it's for the best. Maybe it's for their own good that they stay away from me. Some avoid me out of disgust, some out of fear. No one wants to associate with someone who's so obviously been severely punished by the Peacekeepers. It doesn't matter what I did; I'm someone who might put them and their families in danger.

So they stay away. Even packed together closely at the reaping, they give me space. It doesn't matter. They don't want to be here. I don't want to be here. We're all just trying to get through it. All just hoping to survive.

The rain beats down harder as the wind grows sharper. A bitter, deadly cold. A few groups huddle closer together for warmth. None of them invite me to join them. So I wrap my arms around my chest until my fingers brush the scars on my back. I bite back a cry of pain as the mayor stands up to begin a short speech before the video from the Capitol.

No one wants to hear it. He probably doesn't want to give it. But here we are, anyway, so we might as well get through it as quickly as possible. The sooner he starts, the sooner he can be done. The sooner we can all go home.

All except two.

I'm not kidding myself, of course. I'm as scared as anyone else. There's always a chance, after all, that it'll be me. I'm seventeen. I take tesserae. But not as much as I could when Puck and Lincoln were alive. Those are the rules: You can take tesserae once each year for yourself, and once for every member of your family. That, along with the increase in slips for each year of age, can add up to some hefty numbers for people with large families.

I no longer have a large family. My name is in the reaping bowl thirty times today. More than some. Less than others. Less than I would have if Puck and Lincoln were still alive.

But I would enter my name a hundred times if it would bring them back.

_Stop thinking like that._

There's nothing I can do, of course. Nothing that will bring them back. The only thing I can do for them is live. For them. For my parents.

Maybe even for myself.

Finally, the video finishes, and Claudina steps up to the microphone. She's about as unenthusiastic as the mayor was. Everyone knows she can't stand District Ten. She's still smiling a little, but it's very forced. Maybe she's hoping that if she acts well enough, they'll bump her back up a district or two. District Nine would still be a far cry from her old job in One, but at least they have two victors. We don't have any.

_Yet. We don't have any yet. _It's only a matter of time, even in the poorest districts, before someone manages to break that pattern. That's what the Games hinge on, after all – an element of chance. The moment they start to become too predictable is the moment people lose interest. And the Capitol won't stand for that. So we have to keep believing that even here, even in District Ten, we have a chance.

Claudina doesn't look like she believes it, though.

She draws a name quickly. No show. No fuss. She wants this over with as badly as we do. "Rachel Summers."

The thirteen-year-old section stirs, but before the girl can begin to walk to the stage, a quiet voice interrupts her. "I volunteer."

Even I snap my head up to look. Volunteers have been more common recently, but not _here_. Not in District Ten. There was one volunteer – a boy – three years ago. Matt something, I think, but I'm not even sure of that. I spent those weeks lying in bed, trying not to move, in too much pain to take any notice of what was going on in the Games. But, obviously, he didn't win. And no one else has followed his example. Until now.

The girl who emerges from the fifteen-year-old section doesn't seem eager as she repeats the words for any who may not have heard her the first time. If anything, she looks a bit distant. Regretful.

I watch curiously as she takes the stage. She's a few inches shorter than me and very petite, but quite fit. She's lightly tanned, with her brown hair tucked up in a bun, dressed in a knee-length black dress and black boots. The sort of girl who would turn and walk the other way if she saw me on the street.

Not the sort you would expect to volunteer, but I suppose fools come in all shapes and sizes.

Claudina's just surprised as the rest of us and asks for the girl's name, to which she replies that it's Paige Kraft. The name sounds familiar, but I can't place it. Paige's voice is strong, but she's not looking at Claudina. I follow her gaze through the crowd and find a beautifully-dressed woman with long, brown hair. The woman is smiling – a smile that could almost be described as smug.

_Don't stare._

I look away. Back down at the mud. Claudina, too, realizing she's not going to get any more information out of the girl, quickly returns to business and draws another name. She unfolds it carefully, blinks for a moment, unsure, and then gives it a try. "Ray-fee-el Hume?"

_She pronounced it wrong_.

At first, that's the only thought in my head. Annoyance that she pronounced my name wrong. It's Rah-fie-el.

Then it hits me. She pronounced _my name_ wrong.

_My_ name.

_Run_.

For a moment, that's my only thought. _Run. Get out. Get away._

But I already know it's useless. Running didn't help last time, and I had Puck and Lincoln with me then. It won't do any good now.

_Then start walking_.

And, at last, I do. The crowd parts for me, my footsteps shuffling and slow. After a few steps, the Peacekeepers decide I'm not moving quickly enough. One of them grabs my right arm, catching me off-guard on my blind side. Another takes hold of my left arm, and, together, they haul me to the stage.

I don't struggle. Not even when they dump me onstage, giving me a shove so that I land, face-down, at Paige's feet. I clench my fists tighter, but I still don't say anything. Not because I'm afraid of what they'll do to me. I was just handed a death sentence; it's not as if they can do anything that'll make that worse. But I'm not about to give them an excuse to hurt my parents.

For a moment, I simply lie there onstage, catching my breath, trying not to cry out as one of them gives me a kick in the side. Trying not to remember the last time I was lying helpless on this stage. Maybe the Peacekeeper recognizes me. Or maybe he's just cruel. Or maybe he's just enjoying having a moment in the spotlight.

_Get up._

Slowly, I force myself to my feet. It's too late – much too late – to make a good first impression, but I can at least salvage whatever dignity I have left. I brush myself off and try to turn so that my left side is facing the cameras nearest me. But I still keep my eyes down. I can't look at the crowd. At my parents. If I do, I know I'll break down. Better to get this over with quickly.

I offer Paige my hand, and, as I do, my eyes wander enough to see that her hair, which appeared brown from my position in the audience, is actually tipped with blue at the ends. Most of the strands are tucked neatly into her bun, but a few hang free, out of place. My eyes meet hers for a moment.

To her credit, she doesn't look away. Her curious blue eyes take it all in – the scars, the tattered clothes, the skinny form beneath them. She looks a bit disappointed, but I suppose I can't really blame her for that. I'm not anyone's idea of an ideal district partner.

Not that it matters. District partner or not, she wouldn't want me as an ally, anyway. And I probably wouldn't want her, either. I'm certainly not about to trust anyone who _volunteered_ for this. Either she knows what she's doing and is already three steps ahead of me, or she's just insane and has no idea what she's getting into.

Neither of those things makes for a good ally.

So we shake hands, but that's it. We go our separate ways. We've already accepted what everyone knows about the Games in the end.

Only one of us can come home.

* * *

><p>It doesn't take long before the three of us are crying.<p>

I told myself I wouldn't. I told myself I'd be strong for them. They probably told themselves the same thing: to keep it together for my sake. But all of that crumbled the moment they walked in the door. Because, suddenly, it was real.

I'm a tribute.

I'll soon be on my way to the Capitol.

And I'm probably going to die.

I keep trying to tell myself that I have a chance. A one-in-twenty-four chance, but still a chance. But we all know that's not true. Maybe it was true fifteen years ago, at the start of the Games. But, ever since the Ninth Games, every victor but one has been a Career.

Maybe there's still a chance, but it's a lot smaller than one in twenty-four.

So we hold each other, comfort each other, for what we all know is probably the last time. None of us says it, but we all know it.

"I love you," my mother whispers, holding my face in her hands, brushing her fingers over the scars. Normally, this would bother me, but it doesn't matter now. Scars or not, this is probably the last time she'll see me in person.

"We both do," my father echoes, wrapping an arm gently around my shoulders. I swallow hard, trying – and failing – to hold back tears. Through everything, that's the one thing I've never doubted: that they love me. And I love them. I would do anything – _anything_ – if it meant coming back to them.

And I will. It's not as if I'm going to stand back and let someone kill me. But in a fair fight, what chance does someone like me really have?

_So make sure it's not a fair fight._

I hold them both a little tighter. "I love you, too."

And I do. Enough to fight. Enough to kill. Enough to win? I don't know. But I do know now – maybe I've always known – that I'll do whatever it takes.

_Whatever it takes._

**Paige Kraft, 15 (written by yellint22)**

**District 10 Female**

Rain batters down onto the muddy field which we all troop through, our shoes hit the mud and making indents just like the rain. Only the rain can dribble and run away, it can run into the ground and disappear, we can't. I am surrounded by girls and boys all in the same situation as me, or at least they think they are. What they don't know was that all the girls are safe, that all the mother pawning over their darling girls, in their best dresses- some which make you pity them for that very fact- who think that they might never see their girl alive again after this day don't know they have nothing to worry about, that pig have already been sent to slaughter by the woman who was stands in front of me, trying desperately to shove the rebellious piece of my brown hair dipped in blue at the end into the uniform bun at the back of my head which is doing a good job of imprisoning all the other pieces of the out-of-place blue strands, only letting the normal brown shine through.

"Go away you stupid thing" she mutters as she tries relentlessly to imprison my hair.

"You talking to me or the hair mother?" I question, wanting her to hear the sarcasm in my voice, to know I don't want to be her perfect volunteer. To know I don't want to face the same fate as Matt just so she could have her desired life.

"The hair silly, of course I want you back sweetie" she cooes, looking at me sweetly. Not the kind of sweetness you would find in the sweets that were not expensive for most kids but my mum thinks I want for my birthday, which I don't. No, this the sickly kind of sweet, the kind you know all too well is artificial and fake. I don't respond. It isn't that I don't want to. No, in fact I want the exact opposite, I want to sink my fist into her face, to prove to her that I have learned to fight. That I haven't just be wasting my time in basement, that just because I don't want to use the expensive machines she have conned into her ownership don't mean I wasn't working out. That a punching bag really is a good exercise tool.

But I still don't react, she doesn't need to know I hate her, actually she already knows that. No, the reason was down to what I need. I need no media attention, no stories, no rumours. Just to be able to into that arena die, that would be the punch to the face my mother needed, my survival would only make her happier.

"Off you go honey, good luck my sweet, I know you'll do me proud" she told me as she patted my head and sent me off like an animal to slaughter.

"Bye Karen" I replied, a small smile forming as her's drops at my use of her first name she before quickly resumes it.

"Bye my beautiful Paige" she says in her fake sweetness. As I walks away my smile grew, knowing that under all that falseness she was scowling. As my heavy boots hit the mud I know it was like a stamp on her pride. Mud splashes my black dress that once belonged to her and was now covered with the mud I love and she hates. I know I am hurting her by letting the strands of my dip dyed hair fall out of the bun to show the blue at the end of the straight brown hair strand, and I love it.

I allowed my body to be herded into the 15 year old pen along with the other girls of my age, most of whom I know from school and hated me, a feeling I reciprocated. That don't matter any more though, I know they would all fake a liking for me after I die and I know that no one would believe it. We all watch- like the servants of the Capital that we all are- the customary video, as it states lie after lie in a constant attempt to produce more people like my parents, willing to believe every capitol lie they spout. I am not my parents though and I can sense every lie in the wretched video.

As the lie train grounds to a halt our district's escort, Claudina, stepped out to the microphone, her black roots clearly showing, offering a stark contrast between her dyed platinum bland hair and the black roots. The stench of nicotine can be smelt throughout the field as it leaches off her clothing and into the once fresh air. Everyone knows she smokes now so she doesn't bother trying to mask the stench now, instead she just lets it waft up our noses and stay there like the knowledge that she is washed up stayed in our brains. She was once the escort of District 1, the best thing an escort could hope for but she has since been shoved off her perch and relegated to District 10 with us, people she clearly views as scum and beneath her.

"Welcome everyone to the reaping of the 15th Annual Hunger Games Today we will pick two contestants to take part in our well-known games" she explains, her body struggling to maintain its posture and poise, instead she sways slightly as she speaks, taking little care over her pronunciation of each word. "Girls then" she mumbles, her mutter being is picked up by the microphone and as a result is carried to our ears by the speakers that have been haphazardly constructed around us. They are probably a major health risk but the peace keepers don't care so they just stay there as looming death threats. Her hand, that is adorned with a rusting gold ring and chipped red nail polish to match her fading red dress, dips into the bowl, snatching the first piece of paper it rests on. Unfolding it proves a small challenge for Claudina's well-worn hands, her stubby, bitten nails find it difficult to lock into the crease in the paper. When she finally manages it she reads out the name with a remarkable about of volume for her.

"Rachael Summers" was the name that explodes out through the speakers, I see a small red-head break down in the 13's pen at this, her hands shaking. This is it, no putting it off any longer.

"I volunteer" I call, causing the red heads cries to stop and everyone stare at me, some in confusion, these were the ones who don't know me, and others in happiness, the ones who know me.

"Excuse me?" Claudina calls out, her ears obviously not registering the second volunteer of District 10's cry.

"I volunteer" I repeat, my teeth grinding the words as if I can make them disappear. I walk out of the pen with those words, brushing past the crowds of confused residents and stone cold peacekeepers as I make my way to the stage.

There is a heavy clunk when each of my heavy boots hit the wooden stairs up to the stage, drawing every eye that isn't already on me to my form. I take my place next to Claudina as I had seen many girls before me, staring out into the sea of people, my gaze rests on my mothers gleaming face.

"What's your name?" Claudina asks, shoving the microphone way to close to my face as she looks off at the clock next the stage.

"Paige Kraft" I tell her, my voice strong and proud, my name being the one of the few things in my life that no one has tried to use against me, one the thing I can still call my own. My mother sense of pride was to overflowing as she looks at me that I divert my eyes from her smiling face to my heavy brown boots that are giving a little much-needed height to my 5'4'' frame.

"Okay, Boys then" she says, showing her clear lack of interest in what I have to say. No one really cares about me and I have come to accept this so this doesn't bother me. Her hand dips into the bowl, grabbing the piece of paper that has been pressed up to the side, exposed like a nerve.

"Ray-fee-el Hume?" she reads out, sounding unsure of herself. My eyes scan to audience for a reaction, all I see was a glimmer of recognition in a man and a woman as they cling to each other with tear filled eyes, his parents I presume. I know I should feel sorry for him and his parents but not matter how much I search through my mind all I find was jealousy that his parents truly care. A boy of about average height steps out of the 17 pen. He looked pretty normal at first, he was of a tan complexion with matching brown hair and eyes, he is very skinny but nothing odd about that, it isn't like food is plentiful around here. He is clothed in brown clothes that consist of a shirt and pants with well-worn shoes, his hair is combed back in an effort to make him look respectable.

As soon as he turns to face the stage I see why he isn't a normal boy though, the right side of his face is badly scarred, one running through his eye to the level of severity where I am sure he can't see very well out of it. His walking is of a frustratingly slow pace that I almost feel thankful when the peacekeepers grab him. He is dragged to the stage, showing no resistance other than his tightly clenched fists- the entire journey even when they shove him face down onto the stage before they land a swift kick in his side when he dosn't get up. He I can see his is trying not to cry. While he still looks ready to give up he pulls himself to to his feet and extends his hand for me to shake. I rake my eyes over his thin frame, taking in his well-worn clothing and scarred face before shaking his hand, my eyes still scan his body as we engage in handshake. His grip is weak and reflects his frame. I don't have to look to the audience to see my mother's reaction to him, I know what she thinks.

She is thinking how great it was that I am a bit closer to winning, the exact opposite of my feelings on my weak district partner who meant that for me convincingly die there was one less likely candidate to carry out the act. Now I have to hope that the other tributes would be up to scratch.

"People of District 10" Claudina begins as we take our places at her side, my posture strong and his weak, we can tell she means 'scum of District 10' but no one says anything. "Please applaud your tributes for the 15th Annual Hunger Games; Paige Kraft and Raphael Hume" she continues, signalling the joyous eruption from the crowd that celebrates it wasn't them or their child going into the games as we are led away into the town hall, an old brown building that looms behind the stage.

The room felt cold with only me in it. I don't expect anyone else to come see me while I am here so why are they even making me stay? Just send me off to die already, I don't care. I pull my arms closer to my body, trying to maintain body heat, trying to stop it doing what I want to, escape. I have long abandoned the old wooden chairs that sat in the centre of the room, instead opting to stand facing the window, my back to the door as I replay events to what might be my last ever conversation with my mother:

"Remember, get what you can at the cornucopia then run, make sure you get a weapon. Find a hiding place and a source of water, if you see a tribute, kill it" she told me, her recommendations only cementing the fact that she doesn't know me one bit. I don't need a weapon, I have boxed since I was eight and that has served me fine so far, hell, the only weapon I know how to use was a gun, most types too. I have no clue how to fight with a knife other than the fencing lessons I have taken as a kid, though I am sure I wasn't getting a sword in the games. And I can't just kill a tribute, maybe if they attack me but not unprovoked, it has taken me years to even want to watch the animals being slaughtered and still I can only execute them with a gun from a distance.

"Sure" I agreed, nodding my head. My death would have more of an effect if she wasn't expecting it.

"Just win my love" she added as she hugged me with a strength that felt more like she was trying to squeeze of my willingness to try out of me than to restore it. I nodded as she pulled away. She left before I had a chance to add anything else.

The conversation just made me hate her more, making me hate my fellow tribute even more for having people who cared about him. I have no friends to come see me and my dad was bedridden, having sent me out the house this morning with only the demand that I win. It is that collection of facts that make me jump when I hear the door open behind me.

I turn to see the red-headed girl from the reaping. Rachael I think is her name.

"Hello" she squeaks, standing awkwardly in the door. Words can't get out of my mouth before she speaks again. "I know you don't know me but I know you and I know people don't like you here but I do and I am so grateful you are going into the games and not me, I don't stand a chance but you do so thank you and I will always be thankful" she stammers as she speaks, the words following out of her mouth in one endless stream that makes it hard to tell one word from another.

"No problem, I was going to anyway" I explain, touched by the fact that she was here. I have done nothing for her, only to escape my parents. Yet she still feels the need to come in here anyway. Her words thaw away slightly at my heart in a warm sensation I haven't felt since Matt's death.

"That's what I don't get, why volunteer after your brother died?" she asks, her eyes looking to the ceiling as if for encouragement. There is no need to be scared, I know why she was wondering why the sister of deceased tribute would volunteer. Who wouldn't?

"My parents want a victor" I answer shortly, shrugging my shoulders as I do.

"Okay" she replies as she moves to go, her face is ashen with my description of my parents wishes. Before she leaves though she turns and adds; "please don't die because of them. You're my hero and I like my hero alive".

"I will try to win" I promise her, it as empty as my life have been since his death. But the ice that has been knocked off my heart exposes the part of me that makes me want to keep my promise, to win for her.

"Thank you" she says quietly as she leaves the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more, though not for long.

"Miss Kraft, time to go" Claudina tells me, holding the door open for me to leave. My feet guide me out the door. This is it. Time to die, though I have told myself for years that was a good thing a part of me now just doesn't agree.

Who did you like better? Have you seen the victor's blog yet? There is a link on my profile. Which of the victor's really stood out? Please review!


	12. District 11 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): **Two more days until all of the Reapings are up! Get yours in if you haven't yet!

**Emry Riverson, 16 (written by Dunno12345)**

**District 11 Female**

I have the same dream again.

I see a man walking towards me, dawned in shadows, both stranger and family. His face is invisible, except for his green eyes-the same color as my own.

I want to reach out to him, but I'm scared. "Are you him?" I try and ask, but nothing comes out. I'm just forced to watch as the unidentifiable man stands for a few more moments, before he extends a hand to me. It hovers over my cheek and I can feel the heat from it. "Win," he says.

And then he's gone.

Mom is cooking when I wake up. Her brown hair is tied loosely behind her and she stands over the stove, twisting vegetables into a boiling pot. My little brother, Blue, sits at the oak table in the corner of the kitchen, a haunting, far off look in his eyes. I walk over to him.

My brother is fourteen years old. Almost exactly two years younger than me and he's gone through the process of witnessing the Reaping twice now. You don't know if you'll be a prospector or a participant until your name is not the one being called.

Or until it is.

I take in his grey shirt and clean pants; the hollow shadows on his face.

I sit across from him and look into his brown eyes. "You okay?"

He glances back up, as if suddenly taken from his reverie and smiles. "Yeah, I'm fine." He runs a nervous hand through his curly black hair and gives me another reassuring smile before asking mom if she would like some help.

Usually I'd be headed to school at this time, learning the basics of Sorter, Harvester, Gardener, and the other jobs in District Eleven, but there will be no school today.

After breakfast, we're to meet in the square for two unfortunate names to be shouted over the entirety of Eleven, but I'm not in any hurry. We're silence over breakfast. All of us, except for our dog Jino, who sits expectantly, eyeing the food my brother and I don't touch. Blue slips him a piece of carrot.

He's the only dog I know who likes vegetables.

"Do you both have your clothes ready?" mom asks, but I hear the anger beneath her words. She has to watch her kids be put in the midst of danger, in the form of a hand, dangling over a bowl of names. I want to reassure her, but I can't. The only hope I have is to avoid being Reaped for two more years. Two more years and my eyes will never have to risk the possibility of being taken by Peace Keepers and shipped to the heart of the Capitol. I have to believe I'll make it. I have to believe Blue will, too.

I shake my head. "I'll get ready now." I push my barely touched plate away.  
>Blue says, "me too" and he follows after me, departing down the hall with a glance at me. I go into my room and pull out a short green dress; modest, made of cotton. Mom says it brings out my eyes, but I know she doesn't care about appeal.<br>I don't do anything with my hair; just brush it and let it fall limp, cutting down to my mid-back. That's all it takes to be ready for the Reaping; for the imminent possibility of death being called.

Blue walks close to me as we leave the house, taking a short cut through the orchards to the square. It's cool outside, a light breeze toying with the branches of the apple trees, rustling the herb bushes that sit in rows. I look up at the sky, at the clouds rolling in from the west.

I cut a glance at Blue. He stands tall, head held high as we walk, as if refusing to look afraid. It's not pride, though, it's strength. Maybe it's his way of claiming a small victory; to do the exact opposite for the purpose of the Games by choosing to not appear fazed.

I know he's scared , though. They'll know it, too.

He gives me a hug when we separate at the varying lines of people. Women are lined to women. Men are lined with men. The younger kids are split up, too.

I swallow as I squeeze him as tightly as I can. "I'll see you after," I say with a tone I hope is light. He smiles again before disappearing into the throng of boys.

Mom embraces me too, eyes shining before I find myself in my own line, my blood being taken before I'm herded with others into the Square.

I look at the stage. It's a plain platform; nothing extraordinary in itself, but full of despair. How many names do those wooden boards bear? How many names called here, have never been called here again?

Eleven tributes rarely win. We aren't trained the same way; we grow crops, not cut things down. We're farmers, not hunters. And farmers don't win.

I don't know how long I stare at the platform, but soon, the announcer steps to the podium. She wears a white dress, wrapping in waves around her body before fanning out at her knees. It reminds me of ocean of foam.

"Welcome," she says in a monotone voice, "to the Fifteen Hunger Games."

I tune the rest out. The lecture on the Hunger Games. The screen that shows the video feed. To the President and other shimmering images of sickness and the heroic way in which the Capitol is presented in.

"The boys will be called first," she announces, her fingers peeking speculatively into the bowl. I don't realize I'm holding my breath, urging my eyes to find Blue, but I'm too scared. I don't want to hear his name. Maybe if I don't think it, the announcer won't call it.

"Thicket Moors."

My breath leaves my body in a whoosh; a sigh of relief that I feel in the way my chest releases and I can breathe. My brother has evaded another year. Four more and he will be free.

I say a silent thank you as she reaches for the girls' name.

She swishes the bowl around but I'm not focusing on that. I'm still reeling from relief, my eyes now finding Blue, whose face holds color again. As if feeling my eyes on him, he turns and meets my gaze, and I want to tell him it's going to be all right; everything is going to be fine.

Just as the name "Emry Riverson" is spoken over the microphone.

My name.

I'm still staring at my brother and I watch as his face crumples, tears suddenly pooling in his eyes. He keeps them on me as he shakes his head. Once, twice, again. I stare back, as if unable to register what's happening, though people are pushing me forward. My eyes don't leave Blue, though, who's making his way toward me as I make my way toward the platform. I dully acknowledge the wooden steps beneath me, feeling numb as I ascend.

Their planks bear my name now, too.

I stand next to the male tribute, but don't look at him, unable to see past my brother's face, tears now running down his cheeks.

"I give you, the Tributes of District Eleven," the announcer says, just as my brother shouts, "No!"

I break from my thoughts, watching as he comes forward, but give an imperceptible shake of my head.

Don't.

He pauses. Stares at me like he's afraid to look away. And I'm afraid of that, too. But I'm glad it's me. It's what I decide to focus on as I'm being dragged back, through the doors that the platform rests against. I'm glad it is me and not him; not my fourteen year old brother who feeds vegetables to our dog. Not my little brother who used to need help tying his shoes but would only let me teach him. Not my baby brother, that when in the presence of trouble, would do his best to protect me, even though for the time being, that was my job.

I stare at him for as long as I can, until I'm suddenly behind the doors. Blue is gone and I'm left alone with the realization of my own fate.

For a second, I stand there, trying to keep from falling into the whirlwind of terror that is the truth. This is it. It's over. My life has been sealed. I ignore the Peace Keeper next to me and rest my head against the wall, feeling the tears start to well up.

"Five minutes," a Peacekeeper says, opening the door. My mom comes in first and she instantly hugs me, eyes shining. "Be strong," she whispers, wrapping her hands over my cheeks. They're cold as she stares at me-hard. "But keep this safe." My mom presses a palm to my heart. "Don't let anything you see in there change who you are.

You can survive without having to live with blood on your hands."

I nod.

"I love you."

I nod again and whisper it back.

One more hug. Then the Peacekeeper is pulling my mother away, tearing her from possibly the last embrace she will ever give her daughter. She's pushed out the door.  
>Next is my brother. I can barely take him in, walking towards me, the lingering warmth of my mother's arms replaced with my brother's. "Don't die," are the first words out of his mouth. They sound like a beg. "Be clever in there. Use it to your advantage."<p>

I understand their advice. I understand and absorb it like a sponge, but I know it's not the same. Neither of them have had to endure the Games, and I thank God for that.

"I'll-I'll try," I say against his shirt, but the cloth doesn't muffle the break in my voice.

"Take care of mom," I add. "But promise me something, Blue. I need you to promise me something."

He meets my eyes.

"Don't do tesserae. Do not. It isn't worth it and mom"-doesn't need to lose another child. "Mom's already lost enough, okay?"

After a long moment, he nods. "Okay."

A Peacekeeper steps toward him. "I love you, Blue. I promise you I'll try. I'll try as hard as I can."

"Love you, Em."

And then the Peacekeeper takes him away, too.

When they're gone, I lean my head against the wall and slam my fist against it. Once, twice. I don't even feel the pain and I hit it once more, finding it oddly gratifying. Then when the feeling dulls, I close my eyes, trying to imagine myself away from this room, this district, this life.

**Thicket Moors, 16 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 11 Male**

I hate life. I hate life. I hate life. I. Hate. Life.

These are the only thoughts that course through my head as I pull the weeds from around the summer crops. The peacekeepers don't give us gloves, so my hands are blistered and bleeding and I can hardly remember how long I've been out in the blistering sun. Since around seven this morning, I believe. My back hurts, my hands hurt, and I sweat like a pig. If I don't get water soon, I just might pass out.

As I yank another weed, I can't help but go back to thinking of my hatred for life. Not only do I hate having to work and not being privileged like the rich kids to go to school and learn, but I hate my bossy and abusive father, I hate my overbearing and delusional mother, and I definitely hate my bully of an oldest sister. To add on top of that, I am basically friendless, and people tease me for the scars that litter my body. The scars from my over abusive, drunkard, asshole father. Did I mention the four years of taking tessarae for a family of eight? Thirty-six slips are in there with the name Thicket Moors.

And just when I think I'm going to keel over and vomit, a loud horn is blown. End of work day. The one good thing about this bloody reaping is that everyone gets early days off. Instead of working for twelve-hours straight in the sun, we only have to work for four. Lucky me, right?

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and stand up straight, squaring my shoulders to crack the ache from my back. Not quite better, but it'll do until I can get home and take a hot bath. That is, if our oldest sister hasn't used all the hot water, or if there's any left by the time I get a chance to bathe.

I spot my youngest sister, Jasmine, rushing towards me with flowers weaved into the dark locks of her braid. She works in the division where they climb trees and pick the fruit closest to the sun. Her job isn't as hard or taxing as mine because she is in the shade all day and they don't mind as much when the little ones sneak apples or peaches to munch on. That and they get water because they all have a low tolerance for getting overheated, them being kids and all.

"Thicket!" Jasmine calls, running into my sweaty arms. She pulls away immediately, wrinkling her tiny nose. "Ew, you stink."

"You would stink too if you were sweating for four hours straight," I snap, before sighing. "How was work, little one?"

"It was okay, Thicket. You look tired so let's hurry home so you can bathe and rest before the reaping," she says, grabbing my bloodied hand. I always admired Jasmine for her optimism. Even though her life is just as bad – or worse, really – than mine, she always smiles and looks out for others. She even tells me that one day, if she makes it past the reapings – which she will, because the rest of the kids have agreed she is not taking tessarae – that she wants to go help and work at the apothecary.

It's a good job, considering people having heat strokes; kids falling from trees and people getting whipped in the square is all very common.

Jasmine and I catch up to our other siblings that work – Amaryllis, Gardenia and Bryony – before making our way to our very tight-fitting home. It was a small house with only two bedrooms, a small sitting area and a kitchen. We have to use the bathroom outside, in an outhouse shared by two other households.

Mom, dad, Rosemarie and Bryony share a room, with Rose and Bry in sleeping bags on the floor. Amaryllis, Gardenia, Jasmine and I all share the other bedroom, with the girls sharing a bed and me sleeping on a blow-up mattress. It's a very uncomfortable arrangement – especially in the summer – but we've gotten used to it.

When we arrive at our little cabin, I am surprised not to see Rosemarie standing the doorway snarling or making out with her gross and beefy boyfriend. Lucky her, she doesn't work in the fields because she got an apprenticeship working for the Mayor. Reaping day was her day off, and she got to spend the entire day at home while the rest of us worked our asses of in the fields. She sickened me.

However, my sister is uncharacteristically quiet today. That's good, I don't feel like dealing with her stupid or smart remarks today. I have to help everybody get ready for reaping, I don't have time to argue or fight with her.

After handing out water bottles to everyone, I direct Jasmine and Gardenia to the tub in the corner of the sitting room. An old dirty sheet serves as a curtain to protect their modesty, but usually two have to share a bath so everyone gets a fair share of warm water to bathe in.

"Girls, you all should start getting ready first," I say. "I'll go get your outfits ready." They nod and go behind the sheet to begin bathing. Amaryllis fills buckets with warm water from our kitchen sink and takes it over to them so they could run their bath.

I weave my way through the house – careful not to step on discarded liquor bottles – to our bedroom. Of course, our parents forgot to lay our clothes out. I had kindly asked them to do so, so when we returned home we didn't have to worry about it and would be able to bathe and dress quickly without the task of choosing outfits.

Sighing loudly, I open our small closet. Our reaping clothes hang on hangers in the closet, but the rest of our tattered and patchy clothing are in small storage bins on the floor of the closet. We couldn't fit all of our clothes in one closet, you see, so the storage bins had to substitute.

I rifle through Jasmine's clothes, finding a pretty blue floral dress that would suit her. I retrieve the polished white slippers – I keep all of our dress shoes polished and decent looking, know my parents wouldn't give a damn about our appearance – from behind her bin and set her dress on the bed. After finding an outfit for Gardenia – a green skirt and white button-up with puffy short-sleeves – I go through my own clothes. Amaryllis can find an outfit for herself that she would like, she doesn't like it when I choose her clothes out for her.

Eventually I settle on a pair of black slacks verses my brown ones and a black shirt to match. The pants and shirt are about a size to big, and they're my father's hand-me-downs but I have to be happy with what I get. Lucky I have decent reaping clothes in the first place.

When I return to the living area with the threadbare towels we use to dry off, Rosemarie is still quiet, not uttering a peep about how stupid I look in my working clothes or how bad we smell. She seems off her game today. I'm not sure if I'm elated to see her this upset or slightly worried about her mental health.

I don't get to comment on it though because both of our parents enter the door, making a ruckus as they do so. They're followed by my sister Bryony, who seems almost dead on her feet, her eyes drooping closed every few seconds. I notice my mother is sporting a new set of diamond earrings and my father is stumbling over his words and feet. They've probably just wasted her check on alcohol and diamonds, as per usual.

"Amaryllis, get the girls out of the bath," I sigh. She nods and goes behind the curtain, emerging a few minutes later with Jasmine and Gardenia and ushering them to our room.

"We're home," Bryony says tiredly, dropping her purse on our kitchen table. She works at our only butcher in town, in the slaughterhouse. We get a monthly shipment of the skinniest cows, pigs and veal for our Districts supplement of meat, and sometimes Bryony brings home thin slices of steak or a couple of packages of bacon. But we've all gotten so used to not having protein in our diet, we basically just became vegetarians.

"How was work?" I ask, not staring at the blood stained across her face or her clothes. Bryony collapses on our couch.

"Tiresome. I got kicked in the face by one of the hogs… but I'll be alright for the reaping. Speaking of which, Amaryllis and I are going to bathe first, is that okay?"

"Take your time," I shrug. "I have to bathe with old man anyway." The last part is bitter, but since my father and I are the only males in our home, we're forced to take our baths together. Most of the times I don't get clean anyways because he vomits in the water or some other thing, and we're not allowed more than one bath a week. We have to reserve the water for drinking.

Bryony shoots me a grateful look and calls for Amaryllis. I help them get the warm water for their baths, grab the towels from Jasmine and Gardenia, and leave them be. Meanwhile, I have to go help Jasmine braid her hair.

Usually Rosemarie, Amaryllis or Bryony will do it because Gardenia doesn't know how, but reaping is nearing and they have to hurry and get ready. So sitting on the bed with Jasmine between my knees, I begin to braid. It's simple, and I learned it pretty easy in living with a house of women. Besides, it's not like there is anything else to do in my free time, might as well learn something helpful to the girls.

I gather her thick hair in my hands and can't help but notice how much it resembles mine. Thick, dark, and actually quite soft. The only difference is that hers is long and I keep mine neatly trimmed. In many ways actually, Jasmine and I look a lot alike. We have the same caramel colored mixed skin, seeing as our mother is quite pale and our father is very dark skinned. We both have the same jade colored eyes and the dimples in our cheeks. We would be attractive if we weren't always covered in sweat or dirt.

"Alright, little flower," I say, when I've added the blue ribbon at the end. "Go show Rosemarie so she can get your snack." As evil as Rosemarie usually was to us, she would never say a cruel word or lay a harsh hand on Jasmine. Everyone really loves Jasmine.

The little bugger nods and kisses my cheek before bolting from our room. From behind me, Gardenia giggles.

"I swear, you're a softie Thicket."

"Shut up," I grumble, not allowing my cheeks to go red. I was a big softie when it came to my sisters. Not Rose, so much, but the rest of them. I do truly love them, and I try my best to be the man my father isn't. The man my mother once told me Brash was.

Brash was my brother, apparently. He looked more like my father, from what I can tell of the pictures. He was handsome too, with a strong jaw and hard hazel eyes. According to the offhand stories I've heard from my mother, he was a great boy. Only sixteen when he was reaped, too, during the second Hunger Games. He died pretty quickly. It was the bloodiest year, seventeen deaths in the bloodbath. He was killed almost immediately by a knife from the girl from 8.

A part of me wants to avenge my brother. Kill whatever District 8 girl is chosen. But I'm not stupid enough to volunteer, and it's stupid wishing to get reaped. I have to stay in District 11 and protect the girls. I can't let my alcoholic father take to hitting Rose or Bryony or any of the other girls, really. As much distaste as I have for Rose.

"Thicket!" A shrill voice calls. "Time for your bath!" My mother, of course. My mother's not really a bad person. She's just stupid and wasteful. She knows we're poor, I can tell she does. Yet she wastes whoever's paycheck – whether it's mine, or one of the girls – she can get her hands on, on things that aren't necessary. And we can't take the things she buys back. One time we tried it because we were out of bread and she blamed the girls for stealing her pretty things. None of them sat down right for about a week, Jasmine included.

When I arrive back in our sitting area, my sisters have already dumped their dirty bathwater and fresh water is in the tub. It seems we've used all of our warm water on the girls however, because it's cold to the touch. I decide this will be a quick bath.

My father is already waiting for me, washing up incoherently. I grab my towel and scrub furiously, watching as the days sweat and grime peels off of me and leaves the water gray and dirty. Dad doesn't even notice, just keeps rubbing the same spot on his chest while staring off into the distance. He looks pretty green, like he's going to throw-up. I don't have time to bathe him today though, the reaping is in an hour and everyone is dressed but me.

Quickly, I wash my dirty hair until it squeaks in my fingers. Then I jump from the tub, grabbing the towel and bolting from there. I wanted out of there before he vomited. Almost on cue, as soon as I make it out, the acidic contents of liquor and whatever he had for breakfast empty into the filthy water. I cringe. Looks like I'll be the one cleaning out the tub after reaping.

Instead of lingering on my post-reaping chores, however, I dress in my reaping outfit and comb back my hair. After slipping in the size-too-large black loafers my father had given me, I march back out to the kitchen. The girls are gathered around the table, all looking clean but grim. Bryony nibbles her peanut butter and jam crackers absently, not particularly paying attention to what anyone else is saying or doing.

Amaryllis sits reverse-cowgirl on a chair, leaning her head on her hand as she doodles in the corner of her weathered sketchpad. She really wanted to be an artist, but unfortunately we couldn't afford to keep buying her charcoal pencils and paper – yet alone buy the fancy paints and canvases that most of those prestigious artists drew on. Usually she stole them from school, but it wasn't enough for her.

Rosemarie seems to be the cheeriest out of all of us – and she's still moping – seeing as she had her last reaping last year. With fifty-four slips in the bowl, she slipped by with her life. But seeing as it's was her last reaping, it meant that she would have to settle down soon and marry. Or else she'll be one of those free-spirits. One of the women that will lay with anyone for money and never have stable lives, always looking for their next fix on morphling or oxyphodeon, the hallucinatory drug.

Jasmine tugs my arm sleeve when she notices I'm zoned out like Bryony.

"Don't worry, Thicket," she reminds. Gardenia and Jasmine had a bad habit of reminding us oldest children not to do much worrying. We always looked after them, sacrificed for them, made sure they were happy, that sometimes we became overbearing or worrisome. These two were the ones to remind us that we were teenagers.

"What's there to worry about?" I fake innocence. I'd rather Jasmine not see me upset.

"Well, how about you and Amaryllis' forty slips?" Rosemarie grins suddenly. Ah yes, there is the girl I have grown to hate. "Or even better, what about Bryony's forty-five? Or Gardenia's twenty? You have plenty to worry about Thicket, trust."

"Shut up, for once will you? God, you're such a bitch," Bryony snaps. Rose goes to fire back an insult but the siren goes off, alerting us that it's time for the reaping. I grab Jasmine's hand and drag her out the door, and the other girls aren't far behind me. As soon as we're a fair enough distance away from the house, I glare at Bryony.

"You know better than to go starting fights with her. You know she's mom and dad's lapdog, and she has them wrapped around her little finger and at one word…" I trail off. Rosemarie had asked dad to beat on me – or rather the girls, and I had taken the beating – before, and I'm sure she'd have no problem doing it again.

"She just aggravates me!" Bryony growls, clenching and unclenching her fists. I shake my head.

"Still, she's technically our elder and we have to obey her, as agonizing as it is. She's only allowed to stay in our household until she's twenty-one, so we just have to wait two more years to get rid of her. Maybe less, if she and Garret settle down."

"I don't think I can wait that long until I lash out and slap that smug grin off her face," Bryony sighs.

"Well you have to," I reply, as we come upon the reaping. I give Jasmine a hug and send her off with the other twelve-year-old girls, and it isn't long before she catches up with her giggling friends. She wasn't afraid of the needle or the blood at sign-up. She was braver and smarter than that, and she knew that the small prick wouldn't hurt her.

Gardenia hugs me, Bryony and Amaryllis before going to sign-up with fourteen girls, finding her own group of friends as well. I turn to my two remaining sisters.

"Good luck girls," I say, pulling them each into a hug. "Happy Hunger Games."

"And may the odds be ever in your favor," they say in unison. We all share a bitter laugh before I hurry off to sign-up. Glancing around, I take in the other reaping children. Most of them are scrawny and hollow, like me. But a few of them, some of the higher-ups, wear pretty dresses and shoes and have nice clothes. Not to mention they seem full, with rosy cheeks and nice fat on them. A small part of me hopes one of them gets reaped instead of one of us scrawny kids. Not anything personal, just maybe then our District would have a chance at a Victor.

As soon as the square is filled with sweaty and nervous teenagers, our escort Arsenia Vale steps out on stage. Compared to the other District escorts I've seen on television, Arsenia is the most outlandish. Her hair is a muted forest green color, as well are her eyes. She wears a pair of brown pants and a sparkling green shirt, both hugging her body in an uncomfortably tight looking way. Not to mention her skin is dyed the same color of brown as her pants and he basically looks like a walking tree. Maybe she should be in District 7.

I envy her on the inside, however. Not a single inch on her clothes is patched or 'fixed', as Bryony calls it. In fact, the items look brand new and fairly expensive. A part of me is angry because that money that he spent on dying her skin brown, could have been spent buying a meal for one of the starving families in the District, preferably mine.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen," Arsenia says drily over the microphone. She's been doing our reaping since the seventh now, and she looks completely over it already. Apparently, District 11 has yet to offer up any good candidates. "To the reaping of the fifteenth Hunger Games."

District 11 doesn't have a projector, so Arsenius has to tell the story of the war herself. It's a less than pleasant experience.

"War separated our country and divided our nation. It left children motherless, women without their husbands, and men without their families. Rebels seized the opportunity of killing every person who wouldn't side with them, on sight. District 13 soon became a base, a forte of solitude to the evil and calculating rebels. It lead to such a fierce battle, that our very own District 13 was bombed and obliterated. Millions were dead within months, and thousands within weeks. War left our country staggering and unbalanced. War must never, ever be repeated. And to show that war must never be repeated, as a punishment to the Districts for rebelling against our great country's leaders, we have initiated the Hunger Games. " The speech is longer, I know because I have heard it four times before. But Arsenia seems to have cut it down. She wants out of the District as fast as possible, and I honestly can't blame her.

The reaping pauses for our Mayor gives a few welcoming words before Arseniua takes the microphone again. "Now, the time has come for us to select one lucky young man and woman to take their place on stage and claiming the honor of representing District 11 in the fifteenth Hunger Games. Ladies first." Not lingering, Arsenia's hand pops in and out of the reaping bowl.

"Emry Riverson." My eyes travel over to a girl in the sixteen year section, in which the cameras have all focused on. The girls in her section have parted, all of them staring at her. Way to give her away, guys. I know of Emry, she's in my class – or was, before I dropped out of school. She's an okay kid; I don't know her personally, just know who she is. I feel bad for her family, they are good people.

"Is that you, dearie?" Arsenia asks, gesturing to the girl that is shaking like a leaf in the square. Emry nods slowly and stumbles over her feet up the stairs to the stage. The look on her face can only be described as a deer caught in the headlights. There is some wailing from her siblings as she takes stage, and I can feel my heart break for them. Today is the day they lose a family member, and it's quite guaranteed that she'll be coming home in a pine box.

"And now, for our gentlemen… Thicket Moors."I have to do a double-take, to make sure I heard it right. But the boys have done the same to me that the girls did to Emry, parted the sea of kids to focus on me. It seems as if time comes to a screeching halt. I hear my name called and turn to see Amaryllis, her fingers gripping the ropes restraining the girls. Her hazel eyes are filled with fear.

Another person says my name at the same time, I recognize it as Bryony. She's fallen to the floor in the middle of the girl seventeen's. It seems as if I will do the same, because my knees buckle and my legs become the equivalent of jelly. There is another Thicket in the District, he's 12. For a second, I believe they are referring to him. But they didn't call Thicket Carter. They called Thicket Moors. And now I'm being sent to slaughter alongside my ex-classmate.

The voices all around me become drowned out, as if I'm underwater and I'm drowning and they're above, calling out for me. I don't register the peacekeepers hauling me to the stage, nor do I recognize Emry's small hand in mine as we shake. All I can hear, over and over in my head is Arsenia's voice, calling out my name.

I am dragged into the Justice Building, and only when I am sat down on that plush couch, do I force myself to come to my senses. By the time my family has swarmed the room; I have already begun to accept my fate.

Amaryllis embraces me first, and the others let us have our moment. She's going to take it the hardest, seeing as we're twins. We've always been by each other's side, and we've almost never fought with each other. It's like stealing half a man's body and telling him to keep living. It's damned near impossible.

"Thicket," she whispers, cupping my face in her hands. "Thicket, I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Amy," I reply, pulling her back into my embrace. I breathe in the scent of soap in her hair, it may be the last time I get to hug her. "None of this is anyone's fault." We want to stay embraced forever, I can feel her grip tightening when I try to pull away, but Jasmine is getting antsy. So I pull away from Amaryllis and kneel on my knee in front of her. She isn't crying, but she has a scared, urgent look on her face. Jasmine places her hands on my shoulders and grips them, her eyes wildly searching my face.

"I want you to be strong and brave, Jas, okay?" I start slowly, wanting to make sure she hears my words. "I want you to mind Bryony and Amaryllis, they're going to look after you and I need you to help out okay? I'm not going to be there anymore, I need you to remember what I taught you. You remember what I taught you?"

"Yes, I remember… Thicket, you can come home, right? You know how to use a chainsaw and you know…" She trails off, searching my face again.

"Yeah, I can come home," I soothe, pulling her into a hug. "I'll be okay, I promise." It's so easy to lie to someone you love when you're lying to protect them and their innocence.

"You're going to die, Thicket," Bryony sputters from above me. Not tearing away from Jasmine, I look up at her.

"I won't," I assure. "I'll come home."

"Don't lie to me, Thicket. I'm smarter than that and you know it," she snaps back at me. I give Jasmine a final kiss on her head before standing to hug Bryony.

"I'll come home," I repeat, softer this time. Bryony embraces me tightly, her nails digging though my shirt into my back.

"Thicket, you can't keep telling yourself that." It may seem harsh, but it's true. Everyone in the room knows that I have zero to none chance of coming home. The slim chance that I do have is only if I make it past the bloodbath, which is highly unlikely that I will. If Brash couldn't do it, then I certainly can't.

"This is just a repeat of your brother," my father slurs from the corner. For a split second, I wish the peacekeepers wouldn't have let him in here drunk. It's such a small, enclosed space that if he lost his cool, someone would get hurt. "Just a damned repeat!"

"Dad," I say, leaving Bryony. "Get a grip."

"Don't tell me what to do, boy!"

"The girls… mum… they need you. I've played house for too long now, it's time for you to step up to the plate and be a father. I know losing Brash-"

"Don't," my father is unsteady on his feet as his jabs a dirty finger into my face. "Don't you dare talk about Brash! You know nothing, of Brash!"

"Four minutes!" A peacekeeper yells from outside. I realize that I need to hurry and wrap up business with my family, I don't have much time to exchange final words. Vaguely, I contemplate leaving my father to speak with Gardenia.

"You're right, I don't," I reply to my father instead. "But I do know about the girls. And I do know you need to look after them. Please, dad. If it's the last thing you do. Look after them." As I speak, I ease the bottle from his hands. As soon as I dump it in the waste bin, my father sinks to the floor, burying his hands in his face. My mother kneels next to him, and rubs his back gently.

I've wasted my goodbye time on my father, so I must hurry and say my parting words to Gardenia and Rosemarie.

"Gardenia," I say, pulling my sister's arm so she could face me. "Gardenia, you have to stop taking tessarae." My words are hurried, but quickly I explain to her why she has to slim her chances of getting chosen. By the time I'm done speaking with my sister, she's a sniffling, sobbing mess.

Lastly I turn to Rosemarie. She's standing stoic by the door, trying to keep a hard face. I take a tentative step towards her and embrace her, even though she doesn't hug me back. Eventually, she relents and embraces me. When she does, a giant weight is lifted off my shoulders.

"All my life, I despised you all because you were doing what I was supposed to be doing," she admits suddenly, through tears. "You were taking care of the family when I couldn't. It was why I was so angry with you. Because you were my little brother and you were helping to care for me. I felt useless. I'm sorry that you getting reaped was what made me realize that I have nothing to be jealous of."

"I'm sorry too," I whisper. I go to give her another hug but Peacekeepers burst open the door. I don't even get to say final 'I love you's' before my family is ushered out the room. I step towards them, but the door is slammed shut in my face.

I hate life. I hate life. I hate life. I. Hate. Life.


	13. District 12 Reaping

**A/N (Glossy): Awesome, only two more to go!**

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

Today is just like any other day; the sun has not risen any earlier and the rays have not intruded into the empty broken house before their due. The Seam is still very much quiet and deserted, lifeless and hopeless yet very much peaceful and harmonious. Is there truly peace in loneliness? Everything is as usual, light scurrying of the last army of mice to their hideouts and birds starting to roost, and yet, there, in the cold morning, sitting quietly in the meadow is a young man. No one really knows how long he has sat there or since when it had become a habit but many could guess and quite accurately too.

Reaching out, I move the tips of my fingers to ever so gently graze the badly craved scrawls. How pitiful that the best companion for the dead are silence and loneliness. Would anyone ever stumble upon my rotten body and perhaps grant me a funeral? I allow a choked laughter to burst from my lips before it died lamely. It was obvious what the answer would be; there would be no one... no one at all for who truly knows my name but the Reaping Bowl? How truly pitiful that the only ones who know my name are myself and an inanimate object. I shake my head and smile sardonically, perhaps it does not even matter if I were buried because in the grand scheme of things, _nothing _really matters anyway.

Rocking forward, I sit on my knees and stare coolly at the words I had craved a few years back in the strong winter. Martha Augustus-Cultzealot, devoted wife of Franc Cultzealot. Dead in the winter of the year she turned 44. I do not want to sneer, truly I do not but I do anyway. I sneer at the hasty engraved scrawls and nearly sympathized my mother dearest. Oh yes, would it not be awfully nasty of your son, your only child, to sneer at your grave? Oh yes, yes, yes! But do I care? Yes. Truly? Never.

"Martha Augustus, were you a fine and devoted mother?" I asked quietly as I tilted my head as if she was sitting there opposite me instead of lying perhaps five or six feet in the Earth, "How would you answer that, mother dearest?"

Once upon a time, that label used to be an endearment but now it served to be a mockery and a reminder of how foolish the boy was. He lived to serve his mother in hopes that one day, one fine day, she would remember and call him by his given name instead of calling him Franc. His mother was the sole reason the boy chose to continue to live, to continue having a purpose in life but how pitiful his hopes and dreams were dashed in that cruel winter.

"Allow me to grace you a prelude to a story I have been...writing this for a couple of months now," I smile as I dug for a few scraps of papers from one of my pants pockets, "I have a strong feeling I may very well write the end story soon."

There was once a boy with midnight hair that was always combed back neatly, and gentle and friendly greyish-blue eyes. He was filial and polite, respectful and admirable but he had no acquaintances and certainly no friends. Strange how a kind soul like his would be so ostracised by his own community but the boy paid no heed and continued his life as if nothing was wrong.

They called him weird, they called him strange. They gave him those stares and they definitely avoided him. However, despite all the quirky behavior they were showing him, never once did they sneer at him or threw rocks. They never tried to rob him nor did they ever try to wave at him. Nevertheless, the boy was not bothered and continued on as if everything was normalcy.

Neighbours knew not his real name for many a times they would hear the woman howl the name of her deceased husband. Sometimes she screamed in rage, sometimes she cried in yearning and all these times, the poor boy took the brunt of it all. They never heard him say a word to try to remind her otherwise, nor did he ever try to retaliate or defend himself against the senile and sick woman. He did, however, continue his filial duties as her son; he bathed and clothed her, fed and soothed her, humoured and indulge her, and he smiled when he served her. Truly there could be nothing greater than such a filial son, is there? And for such a discipline child, could there perhaps ever be an underlying darkness?

"Is it not such a beautiful tragic story? And how very similar to me in looks, isn't he, mother dearest?" I drawl as I fold the papers and put them away, and begin to slowly get up from my kneeling to dust my pants, "Oh, I tried to warn him mother dearest, but the boy was so _so_ _devoted _to you, it was sickening. Truly sickening. Fret no more Martha, for the boy you broke has grown to be quite..._fascinating_." Chuckling quietly, I pat the tombstone mockingly and left the meadow in a slow stroll. Ruffling my black hair, patting it and then ruffling it again to ensure it was sufficiently messy, I dig in my pockets for my spectacles and put them on. Oh yes, the slob has returned and no slob is ever early...certainly not for a ceremony of herding him to the slaughter. "If I am late, I might as well come even later."

"And the male tribute would be..." I pause in mid-step on my journey to the District Square as I listen curiously to her next few words, "Hayden Cultzealot." A smile stretches its way across my lips as I look at the looming buildings; just beyond them is the District Square and where...perhaps will be the opening to my finale. As I continue to saunter, I nearly snigger when her panic voice floated across the district, "Where is he? Where is _the boy_?" Oh his escort is a shrill one but aren't _all _Capitolians shrill? I shake my head and shrug casually as I continue my journey on a languid lazy pace. I am no fool, why rush to my death when I can create as much suspense as I can? This way, the opening to my finale would be more grand than before. "Hayd-"

"Oh, sorry I am late, Your Highness," I drawl while I wave a lazy hand at her and stroll past the shocked, petrified and angry faces, "To what do I owe such pleasure for you to have called my name from the Reaping Bowl?" I smiled widely when I saw her face flushed but I nearly, immediately, scowled when I heard the quiet murmurings of my...own community.

"_He _is_ Hayden Cultzealot?!" "He is _not_ a namesake?" "That's his _real_ name? Preposterous!" "His name is Hayden Cultzealot? I thought he was Franc Cultzealot..." "His mother used to always call him Franc, did she not?" "Oh that orphan, I couldn't care what his name is; better him, than my son." "Oh, oh, the poor boy but at least he doesn't have anyone to hurt with his death." "Good, now all the Cultzealots will be out of our hair; very weird bunch of people." "Very much like his mother...insane! Good for the lad who left her!" "Poor boy has no one to wish him farewell; but I don't want to come near. What if he snarls..?" "Good riddance to bad shit!" "Good grief, finally! Never thought it would ever happen!"_

As I walked up the stage, I pointedly ignore the girl tribute, the escort and the mayor. Honestly, what kind of premier to my finale is this? People should rejoice in being part of the premier; not whispering harshly amongst themselves. I frown as I wonder where it actually went wrong for me; why could _my_ Reaping not be as...lively as the other districts? The people represent the District and the District in turn shapes the future generation- Of course! Lifeless and hopeless people made this district miserable and therefore the future generations only know to whisper instead of talk. I smile inwardly at my genius as I sneer and look down to watch the faces of the other boys and girls from on the stage; honestly, they look very much like soldiers in army. They do not fidget, they keep their eyes and posture straight and they certainly are looking grim. Without meaning to, I started a quiet chuckle which obviously had the escort and mayor looking at me. Oh people are such funny creatures, and yes, I do mean myself too.

Quite an uneventful premier; I was quickly ushered into the mayor's house, forced to sit beside a girl whom I could hardly care and forced to listen to the inanity of the very _interesting _escort. Without even a polite excuse, I leave the room yawning and make my way back to the quiet meadow; after all, I have to break the news to my _family _and since only a tombstone is left; a stone is my only family member left. The shrill woman, no doubt, would still be explaining non-stop about some lack of mannerism and etiquette or whatever. The escort sounded so much like a particular woman I know who was currently sleeping in the Earth.

"Well mother dearest, I suppose you are right," I sneer as I began talking to the rock, "My finale would be in the Arena; with the rain pouring over me and my blood drenched clothes...and quite possibly my intestines dug out and a missing eye." I keep quiet for awhile as if to assume the dead needs time to understand what I just said before I continue purring coldly yet soothingly, "You must be squealing with barely controllable excitement; your bastard of a son is a tribute for the _as always_ _delightful _fifteenth Hunger Games! How long have you waited to be rid of me...or rather, are you now trying to pull me to the other side? Oh mother dearest, you must be _so _lonely to be missing _me_." Laughing darkly, I shake my head to recompose and rise to my feet. I smirk lazily at her grave and left the meadow without a second glance. Who cared if I died in the Arena? No one. Who cared if I came back a victor? Oh, so many would throw stones and cursing me for killing their children. Let's be really honest, I most certainly do not care either way and neither would my _darling _parents; so should I care what others thought? No, never. Hell would probably have to freeze ten times over for that to happen.

_Because I have no one, I will not grieve and mourn, and therefore am heartless._

_Because I do not care, I do not fear death, and therefore do not have limits.`_

_And so, I will not kill to win, there's no need to win..._

_but I will not be an easy kill... I will bring them down with me._

_So I will kill and kill and kill without remorse..._

"Soon, _very soon_," I croon as the dark realization chant in my head like a mantra, "It will all end. They will all cease and I... I will _finally _be free." I smile in dark anticipation as I return to the train. The grieving and mourning, the pain and loneliness, and the whimpering heart and broken mind will stop. _Oh yesss_... soon even insanity disappears when the soul crosses over.

_I am a predator and a hunter... but one who has already _died.

**Exella Iver, 15 (written by tributeswiftie)**

**District 12 Female**

I wondered for a brief second if my parents dreaded today more than Reyler and I did. The way my mother dropped the bowl of fruits due to the trembling in her hands was the first sign. My father cut his finger when he was cutting up some more fruit for us, which was the second sign. Reyler and I just sat patiently at the table.

"Finally," Reyler mumbles when mother places the bowl of fresh fruit in front of us. I cringed when mother threw away the fruit that dad bled on and that she spilt. I knew how hungry the people in the Seam were. Just thinking about how hungry they were almost made me want to give them my food and let me take on the pain of hunger instead of them. That would be better.

"So," my father, Tristyn, says as he takes a seat at the old table. "How do you guys feel?"

Reyler spoke first. "It's my last Reaping, so it's a relief."

They stare at me for an answer, but I only give a slight shake of my head.

"Well, eat up because we're having a feast tonight," mother says.

_You are. I'm not._

* * *

><p>I decided to volunteer when I overheard my parents a few nights before the Reaping.<p>

"But what if one of them gets picked?" my mother whispered nervously.

"They won't. There are people with more slips than their age in there," father says to comfort her.

"But—"

"It's Reyler's last Reaping. She won't get picked." Father reaches out to my mother over the table and squeezes her hand. She sniffles and looks up to give him a small smile.

"You're right. I'm worrying about nothing. She won't get picked. She'll be home after the Reaping and we'll feast," mother says to reassure herself.

My mother spoke like she had only one daughter, like she only had Reyler to worry about. They didn't mention my name once or the fact that I, too, would be going to the Square to have my name entered into a big glass ball. I apparently wasn't on their list of daughters they should worry about. That stung.

If they didn't need to worry about me then I was already gone.

* * *

><p>"Welcome!" the District 12 escort announced into the microphone. "Today is the day where you, as a District, sacrifice two of your own to fight in the Capitol created game to maintain peace throughout Panem."<p>

The other 15 year old girls around me shift uncomfortably with sweat rolling down their temples. "After this short video, we will be given a speech from the mayor of District Twelve then we will find out who will be our two brave tributes from the mining District," the escort says. She backs up from the microphone and you can hear her heels clicking against the stage throughout the entire Square. It makes my stomach flip uncomfortably.

The video is just an over dramatic summarization of why the leaders of the Capitol thought the Hunger Games was the way to keep the Districts from rebelling again. The mayor's speech is basically him wishing the future tributes good luck in the arena and the reasons why the Games are a good thing. We all shift sadly because the adults didn't have to suffer through the Hunger Games once the Dark Days were over. They only had to deal with the pain of other people they loved enter the Games.

"Thank you Mr. Mayor for that speech," the escort speaks. I never bothered to learn her name, but it's probably some Capitol inspired name that would make me want to barf. "It's time to select our tributes!" She smiles like she expects applause but all she gets are stares of fear.

Everybody tenses as she makes her way to the glass ball on the right that contains the girl names. Her gloved hand slides gracefully into the sea of paper slips. She slowly pulls her hand out, but has two in her grip. She drops one and I feel myself relax for that person whose name was just dropped.

Everybody stops breathing as she unfolds the paper. "Jennie Malor!" she calls. There's a loud cry that comes from my left. A girl with bouncy brown curls stumbles out of the boundaries looking pale and sick with fear.

_Now._

"I volunteer!" I shout. Jennie stops and almost collapses in relief. All eyes turn to me. "I volunteer."

They say when you're Reaped time seems to slow down. They say you quickly analyze all your fears and regrets, then somehow push yourself up onto the stage for your last and final stand. I expect to remember all the little things I could've down before _now_, before volunteering, but nothing happens. I don't regret not making my bed this morning, I don't regret that time I broke mother's favorite vase when I was seven, I don't regret not telling my family I love them. But with the nothingness comes the emptiness, and my feelings are quickly overridden. Instead of fear and terror, I feel nothing.

I am stone.

I am alive.

I am nothing.

* * *

><p>I don't remember getting on the stage, but I remember brief moments of a Peacekeeper pushing me and another girl. I walked towards the stage while she walked away. <em>The girl I just saved<em>.

The loud escort grabs my shoulder and pushes me in front of the microphone. I stumble over my feet a bit, not expecting her to have such strength for someone who looks so delicate. "What's your name darling?" she asks.

"Exella Iver," I choke out.

"Well, Exella, congratulations!" she says. Her smile is so wide it even hurts my cheeks.

She pushes me off to the right of the stage, behind the glass ball. She says words of apology and gratitude to my family. I don't pay attention. I don't think my family is paying attention either. That's fine though. I'm gone. They don't need to worry anymore.

I don't realize she's drawn a boy's name until she's announcing it. "Hayden Cultzealot," she calls out. Nobody steps forward, but you can hear the murmurs that arise from the crowd. After two minutes and no Hayden Cultzealot has appeared, Escort Lady calls his name again. "Hayden Cultzealot?"

Silence. There's no one stepping forward and claiming their spot. "Where is he? Where is _the boy?_" Escort Lady says close to hysteria. I mean, _how dare_ someone not attend the Reaping, especially when their name had a chance of being Reaped!

"Hayd—" she tries again before a thinish boy with unwelcoming black hair steps forward. Except he's coming in through the entrance. He hasn't been here at all. I don't know why, but it lights a spark of anger deep within me.

"Oh, sorry I am late, _Your Highness_," he sasses. I raise my eyebrow. I like _Your Highness_ better than _Escort Lady_. "To what do I owe such pleasure for you to have called my name from the Reaping Bowl?"

He takes his time making his way up to the stage. ."Congratulations Hayden!" Your Highness cheers. I gag. Hayden sees me out of his peripheral vision and chuckles to himself.

"Shake hands you two," she chirps. She steps out from between us and grab our shoulder, turning us so we are facing each other.

I reach out my hand_. Sorry, but I'm going to have to kill you within a matter of weeks, but now here's my handshake of unity. Hope you take this as a peace treaty_.

I imagine him telepathically replying, _Thanks. Hope to hear your cannon soon_.

I'm ushered to a fancy room with velvet furniture that is deep inside the Justice Building. My goodbyes.

This is supposed to be when your friends and family come and visit you and tell you how much they care for you and will miss you. They're supposed to come and offer you their love and comfort before you're sent off to a fight to the death which they know you won't win. You're supposed to have someone to tell your last wishes, tell them how you want to be buried, what you want to be wearing as you're lowered into the ground.

No one comes.

Not mother, not father, not Reyler.

No one.

What a great goodbye committee.


	14. Train Rides

**A/N (Glossy): **Now that we are starting to get our Pre-Games chapters up, I can really feel this taking off. I plan on doing a sequel, so tell me in the reviews when I should start this (i.e. ASAP, once Games start, Final 8, after games are over, etc.)

**Paisley "Blue" Button, 13 (written by TheSnowyAngel)**

**District 8 Female**

Shay leads us towards on of the train carriage and I plop down on the first chair I see. I'm partially blinded by the burning camera lights that have been shoved in my face. Gabriel takes a seat opposite me and puts his feet up on the coffee table.

"Young man, what do you think you are doing?" Shay asks.

"What does it look like, Peacock Lady?" he replies rudely.

Shay just looks at him in disbelief then straightens out her dress. She makes a clicking sound with her tongue as a few feathers tumble to the ground. "What kind of dress is this?" she exclaims, "They just don't make good quality materials anymore do they? And this is all in your department!" she points a nimble finger at me.

I keep my gaze to the ground as Shay continues to give me a lecture on working hard to produce good things for the Capitol. What's the point if you're just sending me to my death?

One of the carriage doors slide open and two men enter. "Hello Shay," one of them says through gritted teeth. He has curly chocolate brown hair and a scowl on his face. The other has light auburn hair and freckles everywhere. He smiles at me kindly, which makes me feel slightly better.

"Ah, finally. Tributes, these are your mentors," Shay says. "Meet Godric Ayers and Vasilios Rey." After picking up all the feathers on the floor, she excuses herself to let us 'mingle'.

The train starts to move slowly as she shuts the door. Godric has a relieved look on his face as he takes a seat next to Gabriel. "Finally! That weirdo is gone!" he says. Gabriel raises an eyebrow while Vasilios chuckles, "You still hate her don't you?" he asks.

"You bet I do! Anyways, do you guys have any skills? Know how to use any weapons?"

Gabriel leans back in his chair. "Not that I'm gonna tell any of you about. It would be quite stupid to reveal my strengths and weaknesses to a group of complete strangers, don't you think?" he says as he eyes Godric suspiciously.

"Oh, I-I suppose..." Godric just looks away awkwardly. Looks like he's not going to get much out of that boy, not yet anyways.

Recovering quickly, he looks at me with hopeful eyes. "What about you Paisley?"

"Urm… I can carve things out of wood… and I can run pretty well I guess," I say.

"That's good! Now, I think with a little training, we can give you both a better chance."

Chance. Chance. There's no way I'm making it out of here. I feel my palms sweat and my fingers gripping the chair tighter. I can't see clearly anymore and my lungs feel like their full of dust.

The tiny part of me that's still conscious vaguely remembers someone handing a glass of water. I shove it away and it falls to the ground with a 'crash'. I look down and see my chest moving rapidly up and down. My whole world feels like hell.

I unconsciously try to stand, only to fall to the ground in a coughing fit. "I can't breath…" I say, barely getting my voice out. A strong pair of arms holds me from behind and squeezes lightly. "Shh, it's okay. It's okay." The voice keeps repeating those words until my vision clears. Vasilios lets me go and I stumble backwards in confusion.

"What happened?" I ask.

Vasilios and Godric exchange worried glances. "You had a panic attack," Gabriel says.

"I-I-I did?"

"Don't worry about it Paisley," Vasilios says. "It'll be fine."

I nod my head while trying to keep the tears in; it fails miserably. Shay runs in with an angry look on her face. "Why is there a mess on the floor? And why is that girl's face so red?"

That's when Godric bursts.

"What's wrong with you? That girl just had a panic attack! And you're screaming about a mess on the floor…"

I don't stay to hear the rest of the conversation and run to the nearest door. It leads to the bathroom; I lock the doors then climb into the bathtub. My tears start to flow fast and I let out a few whimpers.

Suddenly, I hear someone pound on the door. "Paisley, please open the door." I stay silent and rest my head on my knees; Vasilios continues to pound the door. "I'm serious! Let me in or I'll break down the door."

He sighs then walks off, only to come back jiggling the lock. The door opens with Vasilios and a key in his hands. He sits beside the bathtub and uses a hand to stroke my back. "I thought you said you'll kick down the door?" I whisper.

"I would've, but I don't really want Shay on my back." We stay in silence for a while until Vasilios speaks up again. "I know how it feels you know, to get panic attacks. I have them too sometimes."

"You do?"

"Yep, but do you know what helps me come back to reality?" I shake my head. "A wise man once told me, 'everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, then it's not the end'." Vasilios helps me out of the bathtub and gives me a long hug.

"Come on, you should get some sleep. We'll reach the Capitol in the morning."

"Thank you Vasilios."

"You know, that name is a little long. Just call me Vas."

I smile at him, "Okay."

**Paige Kraft, 15 (written by yellint22)**

**District 10 Female**

I shouldn't be here. This is not my choice. Trying desperately to make myself believe them, I push that mantra into my brain but no matter how much I attempt to fill every dark crevice the other thoughts will not go completely. Every bit of this is my mother's choice and while I know that I look at my body, a result of my hard training, and think how it wasn't her down there everyday. It wasn't her practicing her aim. It was me, it was all me playing into her slimy rotten hands. Everything around this place reminds me of her, the cold yellow paint that licked across the walls, chipped in around edge. Even the capitol doesn't care enough to make something that was technically theirs look nice for us. Of course Claudina doesn't care, so what if I am a volunteer. I am still a small girl in mud stained dress, no matter how it is arranged and how much my mother had tried to make look like someone she would want to know, I'm still not.

Silence has become the frame to me and Raphael's conversation, sneaking into every little gap and filling the room with more unspoken tension between the crazy volunteer and the boy who obviously wants to go home to a family he doesn't even realize how he is lucky to have.

"I'm not crazy," I answer, no question was asked but it didn't need to be, the silence is practically bursting with it and all it's nasty details.

"I didn't say anything," he turns to face me, confusion filling his features, his eyes wide.

"You didn't have to. I know you think it. I have a nice life and I am throwing my life away to spite my mother," I explain, a small laugh creeping into my voice. Cynical and cold but still a laugh all the same. A piece of my blue tipped hair falls in front of my face and I push it away. The bun is not longer restraining my hair, having been ripped from my head to allow my hair flow onto my shoulders, in all its mother spiting glory.

"I..." he stumbles over his words before finally pulling himself together. "I don't think your crazy. You want an escape and this is your only way. You're fifteen I doubt you could get a job and survive on your own back home," he answers. I laugh again. He looks confused. "What's funny?" he questions, his tone horrified by my reaction to the situation.

"Nothing, just I want to be hear and can't keep my self from allowing my emotions to take control and your as solid as a rock, hiding them all deep inside- oh food!" I exclaim as I catch sight of the large spread of food on the table. The smell wafts up my nose, filling my mouth with saliva. I grab a seat near the large platter of what appears to be veal, we hardly get any in 10. Matt once caught one though, a deer that is. He had proudly walked up to house and shoved it down outside before yelling in a voice loud enough to break glass, 'and you said shooting was useless Mother' before breaking down into laughter with my eight year old self. She had yelled at him until she tasted the lovely meat, Father having persuaded her to try something that had seemed vile to him. Joy filled by face at the thought of my family before I was woken up from the cruel dream by his death.

"You okay?" Raphael mumbles through a mouthful of food. If it isn't for the fact he was filling his face from it I would have thought the plate was a serving tray given the large amount of food that covered it from view.

It was only after his words set in that I realize I hadn't moved since I sat down.

"Yeah fine" I brush off the memories of my brother and begin to serve myself, determined to not eat any excess that would help me last for longer in the arena.

"Is that all you will eat?" Claudina scoffs when she sees my tiny plate of food. Giving up fully on my Mother's wishes I roll my eyes up into my skull in response, prompting a murmur of vile child from the madame that was meant to help her but was instead just helping herself to a nicotine stained death with her obsession of refreshing to foul stench that follows her every few hours.

Slowly I move my jaw up and down, allowing her to see the mixture of meat and salad that fills my mouth, being crushed into a pulp by my otherwise perfect teeth other than my chipped incisor.

"Do you not even care about what you look like?" she cries, turning her face away from my food filled smile. Sure that she cannot see me, I shake my head. "Didn't your mother teach you better manners, I heard your brother was far nicer," she smirks, knowing she has hit a nerve when my fork clatters to the table.

"Never talk about my brother," I tell her, my eyes cold. My teeth grinding against each other, my jaw fixes in place.

"Why ever not? I am just thinking about the better people I could have than you and the slob over there," she replies, gesturing to the boy across the table from me with a judgemental sweep of her hand. He stops eating, swallowing hard, but says nothing. Watching me, he just sits there.

Power sweeps out from under me, allowing my emotions to take over as my fist collides with her face, knocking her backwards.

I can clearly hear her yelling after me as I stand to walk away. I don't turn to face her. She doesn't deserve to know my brothers name yet alone to pretend to know him. He is the one thing these stupid games haven't taken from me yet and I will continue clutching it until the day I die.

**Fleur Auvergne, 15 (written by CherryRedPanda)**

**District 3 Female**

The train is magnificent. I can't wait to get the Capitol and this train is perfect for the trip, I may be going there to die but I am so excited to finally see the beauty of the Capitol and what it has to offer. I find myself thinking about what will happen to my partner Casker. He seems to be able to handle himself but I don't think he'll last long in the games; he doesn't seem to have too many skills. At least he will probably die before me.

I am probably one of the smallest people going into the games this year. Hopefully that will help me as I might be overlooked. Wandering around the train makes me feel like I am in a whole other world; each cabin smells like roses and everything looks like it was just made. The beauty of the dining car is beyond my comprehension. All the different types of food from chocolate to lamb with mint sauce, it's amazing.

My wish of going to the Capitol will come true even if it will cost me my life. I feel extremely anxious because I want to know what my fellow tributes look like and estimate my chances against them. The only people I will miss in my family are my brothers, they were so kind and so fragile I hope they won't have to go through an ordeal like this. I find Casker sitting on the sofa in the dining car staring at the television. He seems to be watching last years games whether he is paying attention or no I don't know.

"Hi," I say.

"Hey," he replies.

"Do you think we have a chance?" I ask him

He doesn't reply for a few moments. He knows as well as I do that most likely we will be two of the first to die.

"I don't know, but hey we can have fun while we wait for the games," he answers.

His answer shocks me and not in a good way. Have fun while waiting for the games to start that's stupid. I know my dream will come true but how can I have fun when all I can think about is dying.

"Sure" is all I can manage to squeeze out before we are cut off by a flash on the television and the recap of the Reapings start. I feel nervous as one of these tributes will end my life pretty soon. The first District to appear is One. The girl is tall and blonde. She volunteered and will probably be good at swinging swords or axes. The boy is also a volunteer. He is over six foot and he has a lot of muscle. He seems very capable of killing so I will add him to my list of people to watch.

District Two appears next yet again they both volunteer. The girl is called Valeria Sterling and she is eighteen. She is smaller than the two from One but not by much. Her male counter part is taller than her and is only sixteen. He has blonde hair. I don't think he will be the leader of the alliance this year. Three comes and goes; I don't think to even look at myself.

Four comes on and it looks very scenic. The girl Maylin has blonde hair, she was reaped and I don't think she will be too much of a threat. The boy Cray might be more challenging but even then he was reaped. I will watch him at training very closely. Five probably won't make it past the bloodbath. The girl is twelve and small. I doubt she will last five minutes while the boy maybe a little longer but they are both young.

Six flashes on the screen and the girl seems like she is a fast learner and could well be a threat. The boy in my opinion is a bloodbath but you never know six has had some good tributes over the past few years. Seven has two fifteen year olds, they could be a threat if they get their hands on an axe but there is only a small possibility of that. Eight wasn't very memorable and neither was Nine but they have a trick or two but I don't think so.

Ten is a different story the girl Paige I think her name was volunteered, which is odd as barely anyone from the lower Districts volunteer. She will definitely be on the careers radar. The boy looks skinny but he has scars on his face so he must have done something. Maybe he is good at stealing, that skill is handy in the games or maybe he murdered someone. Either way I'll be watching him. Eleven isn't too intimidating. I expect at least one of them to be a bloodbath.

When Twelve finally comes on it shocks. A girl from twelve of all places volunteers. That's not normal; something must be wrong there. The boy doesn't look like he could even swing a sword.  
>I am very surprised with the Reapings this year and I have a long list on who I have to look out for. I will be keeping a watch on the others as well but I really want to see what the girls from ten and twelve will be like.<p>

"Who do you think has the best chance," I ask Casker.

"Boy from 1," he says.

Just as he says this food comes out and our escort Fionola walks in. I sit at the table and look at the array of knives and forks. After staring at them I grab some chicken and begin to eat with my hands. Fionola sighs but she doesn't say anything. After dinner I walk to my cabin as tomorrow I will be in the Capitol.

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

I fidget in my seat, my eyes darting around the glamorous and elegantly designed train. My stomach is rolling, I'm sweating and I swear if Faustinus offers me another pastry I will vomit all over his – her? – sparkly shoes. Not to mention how rude the Peacekeepers were by shoving me on the train. I look around for my female counterpart – her name, I learned, is Sabrina – but she doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight. Leaving me alone with Faustinus Crumplehorn and my overflowing angsty teen emotions.

Just my fucking luck.

"Don't be scared honey! There is so much to look forward to!" I snort at him – her? Goddamnit Faustinus – and look at the screen where last year's winner is playing on the screen. I watch as Albus' stomach contents nearly spill from his body from the District 7 boy and I shudder. I would like to keep my intestines in one piece, thank you very much.

"Like my inevitable death? Yay!" I say sarcastically, waving my hands around in fake happiness. Faustinus gasps, pulling me into her – his? – bosom. I widen my eyes and whimper. Delilah was right. There is no god. If there was a god I wouldn't be inhaling cherry blossom perfume and laying on my escorts most likely faux breasts.

"Don't say that! You won't die, you seem smart and honey you know… sexiness gets people far in these Games," Faustinus says dreamily.

"Please don't flirt with me, I like girls," I lie easily, wrenching my eyes shut. Make it stop, oh fucking god make it stop. Faustinus sniffs and rolls his – or her – eyes. Luckily I am released and I hurry to go get something to drink. Anything to distance me from my escort.

"I am a girl, sweetie!" She calls after me, following me towards the cooler.

"Sure, Faustinus," I sigh, retrieving a glass and pouring some of the lemonade. As soon as the drink slides down my throat, I let out a little gasp. I've never tasted lemonade before, but I expected it to be sour and gross, not cold and refreshing. Maybe I can look forward to this.

"My parents were confused," he – she, shit – drawls. I shrug and shake my head; attempting to rearrange my hair to the side-sweep I had it in before the reaping. Faustinus rolls his – or her – eyes and crosses his – or her – arms.

"Keep rolling your eyes, you may find a brain back there," I whisper under my breath, not looking up from the mirror. In the mirror I see Faustinus approach me and I whimper again. Where is Sabrina? Where is Albus?! Why the hell was I left alone with my escort? Do the skies hate me or something?!

"Look here, young man. I am a lady, and you will address me as such. I am just trying to be cordial to you, so we can get off on a good foot and have a fantastic year together. To be honest, I prefer you over your partner. She seems so… void. I like your emotions and your sassiness. So friends?"

"As long as you promise not to hit on me, I don't mind having a friend," I acquiesce. Faustinus claps and hugs me, and I sigh loudly. I don't do hugs that aren't from my mum or Delilah. Mostly because no one else wants to hug me but that's another problem for another moment.

"Yay, friends! Okay sweetheart, I'll leave you to your devices until dinner."

Turns out the phrase 'leave me to my devices' is meant in the literal term. There are all sorts of neat gadgets and controls on the train that by the time we're requested for dinner I reek of vanilla and am now wearing a comfortable navy blue sweater and a pair of white jeans. My hair is still damp from my shower, but I feel happier. The weight from the reaping has been lifted a little, and I do feel a bit better after relaxing and not having to worry about anyone or anything for a little while.

But as soon as I sit down and see Sabrina's somber face, my own sadness is renewed. Right. On our way to inevitable death, how could I forget? An uncomfortable tension settles around the table, and I sigh. I really wish Delilah was here right now. But then again, I don't. Because that would mean she would be on her way to death too.

"Good evening Sabrina," I smile gently, attempting small talk. She doesn't respond, and I notice her eyes are unfocused. She's thinking of home, most likely. "How are you, Mr. Albus?" I try to ask kindly.

Albus looks up from his meal with a bit of confusion. When he realizes who I am, however, he sighs. "So you're what our District has to offer this year?" I look to Faustinus who is doing her make-up, coating her lips in bright pink lipstick.

"Am I supposed to be insulted?" I ask her. She looks at me over the mirror and rolls her eyes. Apparently he's always like this. Oh boy. "Well yes, I am what our District has to offer this year."

"You're not much."

"Excuse me?" I know I'm not particularly strong or smart but damn, he doesn't have to be rude about it. It's then that I realize I am going to hate my mentor.

"I'm just saying," he says, shrugging. "You're not much."

"Well you're no sight for sore eyes either, honey," I snap. Albus leans back in his chair, eyebrow raised.

"You're feisty. But that's all you have going for you. You're useless, kiddo-"

"Listen here asswipe-"

"He's testing you," Sabrina sighs finally, looking up from her soup course. She looks bored, and I wonder how long she's been coherent to finally grasp at what we're saying. "He wants to know your limits. Your boundaries. How far someone can push before you lose it."

"Apparently it's not far," Faustinus mutters. I shoot her a pointed glare and she laughs her Adam's apple bobbing. Albus chuckles before digging back into his soup, shaking his head when he speaks again.

"I insulted this one for a whole hour before she slapped me. You lose your temper too quickly, kiddo. Learn to control yourself, and you'll go far. We arrive in the Capitol early this morning. I want you both dressed, showered, and prepared to take advice by three in the morning," he instructs.

**Raphael Hume, 17 (written by Elim9)**

**District 10 Male**

"Looks like we're on our own."

At first, I'm not sure whether Paige is talking to me or to herself. Either way, she seems to be right. Claudina excused herself the moment we boarded the train and hasn't returned. Clearly, she has no intention of helping us.

Does that mean we should help each other?

That seems to be Paige's intention as she slides into a chair across from mine. I sink back a little farther against mine, letting the cushions envelope me. They're unbelievably soft. Warm and welcoming. Almost enough to make me forget that I'm on my way to a fight to the death.

Almost.

A low table holding a basket of sweetened rolls sits between us. I reach for another one – my third. Paige hasn't touched them. Maybe because the one thing Claudina told us before disappearing was that dinner was in precisely an hour. But I can't imagine turning down food – especially when it's right in front of me.

"I guess so," I agree, not quite sure what she's expecting. Advice? An offer of help? As if there's anything I could do to help her. As if my advice would be more useful than whatever she's done to prepare for this moment. She planned for this. She was prepared for this.

She _wanted_ this.

"I'm surprised she didn't take more interest, with you being a volunteer," I offer, secretly hoping for some sort of an explanation. Because she doesn't seem vicious. She doesn't seem like a killer. She's not excited or eager to be here.

And yet here she is.

Paige shrugs. "She's seen volunteers before."

"In District One," I nod. "Not here. Except that one year, Matt somebody—"

"Kraft," she cuts me off. "Matt Kraft."

_Oh. _"So you're his—"

"Sister." Her eyes flash accusingly, and I look away, ashamed. Her brother is dead, and I didn't even remember his name. Only that he was a volunteer. The first. Just a number. A statistic.

Just like my brothers. If people remember anything about them, it will be that they were executed. Criminals. Statistics. "I'm sorry," I say automatically, even though I know how useless the words are. "My brothers … Puck and Lincoln … they died that year, too." Maybe a week or two before her brother.

Paige's gaze softens a little. "How did they die?"

Fortunately, I'd rehearsed what I would say if I was asked about that – or about the scars – during training or interviews. Because trying to escape the district isn't exactly something you want to admit to when the whole Capitol is watching. "We were out in the field together, watching our sheep," I offer, trying out my story. "We were attacked by a wolf. We managed to fight it off, and I survived, but…" I trail off, trying to read her expression.

She's not buying it.

But, after a moment, she decides to play along. "Is that how you got…" She runs her hand along her own cheek.

I nod. "I'm lucky to be alive." Right. Lucky.

"What did your parents do?"

I hesitate, wondering why she would ask that, of all things. But at least it's something I don't have to lie about. "They were devastated. Losing Puck and Lincoln … it almost broke us. But we had each other. They nursed me back to health, and we've been there for each other ever since. But now…" I trail off, unsure. I can't even imagine what they'll do if I don't come back.

A strange look – almost envy – flashes across Paige's face. "You're lucky."

"Lucky?" I repeat, not quite believing I heard her right.

"Lucky," she affirms. "Lucky that they care. Lucky that you have people who will miss you if … you know."

"Your parents – they don't?" I venture.

I can tell from her expression that I've struck a nerve, but, after a moment, she answers. "No. They never did – it just took me a while to realize it. They just wanted a victor. Matt and I, we trained since we were little. It was fun at first. Exciting. I was proud when he volunteered, and I'd always planned to do the same."

"But when he died … they didn't care. They didn't cry, didn't mourn, didn't do anything. Just insisted I keep training, insisted I volunteer, because now I was their only chance at having a victor." She shakes her head, her fists clenched tightly. "Well, they've got their volunteer, but they won't get their victor," she says defiantly.

It takes me a moment to process that. "You mean you volunteered because—"

"I won't be coming back from the Games," Paige agrees.

I look away, not quite sure what I'm supposed to say to that. Pity is my first reaction – pity for having no one who cares about her. Then relief, because if she's intent on dying, that means she's probably not planning to kill me. But that only makes me feel guilty – guilty that I'm already thinking about her death as a certainty.

But it has to be, if I'm going to come home. And if only one of us can make it back, why shouldn't it be the one who has something to come home to? People who care about them?

Why shouldn't it be me?

If she wants to die so badly that she volunteered for the Hunger Games, who am I stop her? Who am I to argue, when I've considered the same thing myself? This isn't the time for sympathy.

But still.

Part of me can't help feeling sorry for her, this girl who feels she has no one who cares. Because, if nothing else, I know that my parents will care if I die. They'll mourn for me as they did for Puck and Lincoln. I know they love me. I know they care.

I never realized how much I took that for granted.

**Milo Thetras, 14 (written by Starry Infinities)**

**District 5 Male**

I am sitting at the back of our cabin, in a room shut off from the others. Our mentor, whose name has already escaped me, is giving Arlette advice. The poor girl has to put up with both him and Maran telling her what to do, giving her tactics to use, which make no sense to me, hence the fact I left.

My mind had already left on a trail, now it was leading me down a road of thought through my district. Fearin and Azora were undoubtably back at the slums, alone, unlikely to be getting along. I will do anything to be there with them. My parents, probably fighting, father will be drunk, my mother probably ready to head to work, to sleep with another man to afford my father's habit. Ironically, I would rather be crouching in the corner as I had been as a young child, waiting to be hit or kicked by the alcoholic who inhabited our flat as my poor parent screamed in the background for him not to hurt me than on this comfortable sofa, made from delicate fabrics from District Eight in a high speed train designed and manufactured by the people of Six. The life I had hated is the one I desire to lead now, or the life I had created alongside friends which I was perfectly content with until this morning instead of being to antisocial tribute who now hides in a room in this train because he disliked everyone with him apart from one small, even more helpless child from his district. That's who I am. To get back to that previous life, or better, I have to win. I know I can and I will. To do this I need to see one possibility, one I will achieve, victory.

"Time for afternoon tea," I hear Maran say, his voice leaving it's usual sullen tone from an optimistic high pitched one.

"I should probably go and get Milo," my mentor was speaking next, the sealed metal door muffling his usual stern voice. Lope, that was his name.

"The boy needs some food, he's horribly scrawny. Stupid slum children," Maran is saying, showing a severe lack of sympathy for anyone in the districts. Anyone living in poverty.

I hear footsteps approaching, heavy ones. I can tell they belong to Lope, with his stooped walk and slight stomp to his step, instead of Maran's swift and graceful glide. The doors glide open, I see him standing, Arlette and Maran in the background, sitting by a round mahogany table.

"The food's ready," Lope tells me, everyone watching as he does so. I barely give a reply, just raising my eyebrows.

I hear an exclamation in background, trying to urge me to join my district's team,"Canapé time!" It comes from Maran the excitement of the Capitolite is obviously not anything that amuses me.

I am glaring, reluctant to join them, deserving of the label I gave myself, the antisocial tribute from District Five. I shrug my shoulders, smiling, if it gets me though this torture it will do.

**Exella Iver, 15 (written by tributeswiftie)**

**District 12 Female**

After turning every knob and pressing every button, the water finally begins to flow from the showerhead. I sigh in relief. I was terrified I would have to ask Escort Lady how to use the showers. Or worse, Hayden. A shiver runs down my spine as I undress.

There's a loud knock as the door that makes me jump. I turn towards my bedroom, forgetting my nudity, but the knocker has already let themselves in. Hayden.

I instantly feel my cheeks heat up, and I fumble for the nonexistent towel around my body. I let out a tiny sound of shock and embarrassment. Hayden just stands there, smirking evilly at me. His eyes run up and down my body, examining my petite body as if there's a test on it tomorrow. I take a small step back as if a wall will suddenly appear and save me from this horrible moment. But no wall appears and my cheeks get redder by the moment.

"What are you doing in here?" I scream, forcing the embarrassment to morph into anger.

If I had any hopes of scaring him off by my mood swing, they're extinguished when he just smirks in response. He shakes his head as if he disapproves of me.

"There is nothing you have that I haven't seen and touched," he answers slyly. He plops himself onto my bed without my consent. I feel the embarrassment turning itself into anger now. "You're not too bad but I've seen much better ones."

I stare at him. Is this a game to him? Is my privacy just some twisted joke? Or is he thinking I'm trying to make a move on him? Suddenly I feel my anxiety creeping up on me. A boy I don't know, let alone like, is looking at me naked. He seems to see how his actions have riled me up considerably. I reach out and grab the glass vase from the nightstand. I aim it at his face without a second of hesitation.

I expect to hear a loud crash and then maybe a sound of pain from Hayden, but none of that happens. I open my eyes and see Hayden staring at me with a bored expression. It takes everything in me to not go over and grab the vase and smash it on his head.

"You're not even worth killing. Too easy," he says. He hops up from my bed and sashes out the door. He doesn't shut the door and neither do I.

I turn towards the bathroom like a robot. I step under the shower water that's been on the entire time. I turn the temperature up until the water feels like it's melting off my skin.

I try to ignore his parting words.

I'm a no show for dinner.

Escort Lady then comes to my room whilst I prepare myself for my first night on the train and rants to me about how it's unladylike to not attend a meal. I hear her mumble something under her breath about Hayden not showing up for dinner either.

What a handful of tributes she's been gifted with this year.

I crawl into bed although she's still scolding me. When I pull the covers over my ears, she sighs and mutters something under her breath. I hear her leave and she closes the door behind her.

I imagine what my family is doing right now back in 12. Are they still having that feast even though I was shipped off to the Capitol? Do they care? Or are they mourning me?

If they cared they would've stopped by the Justice Building to say goodbye to me. They would've had some sort of emotion on their faces at the Reaping when I announced my name if they cared. So did they really forget about me? Or just not like me since I wasn't like Reyler?

Even if I didn't particularly care for one of my children, I would still care if they opted in to battle to the death. I would say goodbye. I would tell the child I loved them, even if I didn't because sometimes false hope is better than real hope. The child would feel like they had a place to come home to when they won if they received false hope. False hope can save and kill.

But who am I to say that?

I wasn't given any hope.

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

_Are you a prey worth hunting? _I thought sardonically as I knock on her door once and turned the knob and entered without invitation. I turn and a shrill scream of rage echoes through the room.

"What are you doing here?" she screamed and a smirk stretches its way across my face. How amusing. Girls are so easy to tease; it is almost effortless. There is only one thing a male has to do: come in uninvited and she will scream her outrage of modesty. Truly, truly amusing; but my smirk slowly slips. It's getting boring_;_ everything is becoming bland.

"There is nothing you have that I haven't seen and touched," I sneer cruelly as I plop uninvited in her bed, my hands folded behind my head. Looking her up and down with a mocking raised eyebrow, I continued just to rile her even more, "You're not too bad but I've seen much better ones."

My hands reflexes and catch the vase she threw at me easily. _Predictable. Awfully predictable._ I smirk condescendingly. She is nothing but a child, and certainly nothing impressive. If something as seeing her naked could break her composure, she would certainly be an easy prey. In fact, it would be a waste of my time to hunt her down. I shook my head and drawl lazily while I slowly made my exit, "You're not _even_ worth killing. _Too easy._" I chuckled as I run my hand through my hair and closed the door behind me. A prey's fragile control over its composure makes it an easy kill. A predator's fragile control makes it either a prey or a ticking time bomb. I chuckle dryly, perhaps _just perhaps_, I am a ticking time bomb. How interesting.

As I returned to my compartment, I ignore the looks of the peacekeepers and certainly breeze past my escort who chatted inane rubbish. I have no need for all these...nonsense when death looms ahead. _Talk all you want; it won't help you in times of peril._ What _I_ need would be the peace that would soon disappear. Like me, peace is also on its vicious countdown and I would be damned if I did not at least enjoy its final wilting moments. After all, life _is _most glorious towards the end, ask my mother dearest. However, mine did not seem like it- where there should have been shouts, screams and basically noise and _reaction_ even if they are antagonized, there were none. Not. At. All. Shame really.

Sighing heavily, I take off my spectacles and continue to sit silently at the foot of the massive bed and smile ruefully at the tiles. Without the spectacles, the windows to the soul is left unguarded and the façade disappears. The cloak of darkness swirls away. Without the spectacles, the pretences are destroyed and nothing hides and protects the broken boy from the harsh realities. _The boy is vulnerable again._ "Oh mother dearest, are you laughing with glee?" I asked quietly as I stared at the cool material beneath my feet, "Even in death, you still manage to bind me to your will. Do you _truly_ miss me?" I laugh a sorrowful empty laughter at myself as I shook my head and dragged myself to the table. There is no helping it; I still owe it to her. It is after all, a lifetime of servitude.

Right so today's entry would be..? The fascinating journey across Styx.

_They finally know his name. He was reaped..._

I do not know how long I have been sitting and writing the story in a journal. Of course I have a diary; no, not to capture memories but simply to allow the future reader of a taste of my _favourite_ story. This is of course due to the worry, no, not fear, that the boy may not finish writing the story he promises his mother. At least with this, he could send it back to his creaking house and hope that one day, someone would open it and put it on his mother's grave. At least, she would have something to read while bored lying six feet in the Earth.

The afternoon light had shimmered through the cracks of the curtains and highlighted the words. Without meaning to, I sneer at it and again that empty bitter laughter burst between my chapped lips. It does not quite matter how I shall die because _everyone dies in the end _anyway. However, what matters most is the glaring fact that despite everything the boy is nothing but her puppet; her discarded and abused toy."Damn you!" I snarl as I push everything off the table in one swipe, "Until when do you want to tame me?" Huffing, I glare heatedly at the book as if it would somehow burst into flames. _Cool it! _Instinctively, my hands grope and snatch my discarded spectacles and put it on.

_Breathe..._

My eyes close briefly as I listen to the still silence and suddenly my heart and breathing became quite agreeable again. I am composed...again. As I reopen my eyes, I sigh and enter the en suite bathroom and stare at the breathtaking bathroom. They actually have proper sanitation, good water...and a mirror! Oh how I always wonder how I looked; oh, mother dearest does remind me of my looks, but still sometimes I wonder if she described me or my rotten biological father. Standing in front of the shower, I frowned at the numerous coloured buttons: fruity, musky, lavender, spicy, earthy... _Is there no word here called clean? _I decide begrudgingly to go with earthy and if I thought that choosing a scent was easy, a prompt for cold or hot or in between shower would be an even more ridiculous task. Capitolians...such amusing frivolous creatures.

_The boy may enjoy himself for a short breath of relieve but..._

Nothing can ever stop a raging storm and an insatiable inferno, especially not a broken boy who has no more will.

* * *

><p><em>Let the most loyal companions guide you;<em>

_let hatred, despair and loneliness guide your instincts and claws._

_Nothing is greater and more loyal._

_I stand alone. I am alone._

There is only silence all around except for the harsh roaring of the hot water that rained down on the body. There is only stillness all around except for the water that slid hastily off the scarred body. The fair skin starts to turn red and yet the main body continues to remain statuesque in the hot onslaught and the hands remain still and pressed against the wall.

_I am heartless. I will not grieve for anyone or anything._

A moment passed and then two, and finally a hand moves and turns the shower off. Slowly, the other hand joins its partner and they begin their sensual exploration of the scarred torso. Lazily, the main body turns and faces the clouded full length mirror. Grey eyes watch the person in the mirror. Wet, long black hair fell heavily over the stormy dark grey eyes. Skin so fair, one might mistake it for pale or even sickly. As the wandering fingers stroke the multiple stitches that tattooed the torso; some were professionally and efficiently done as if they were sewed by the hand of an expert while others were haphazardly done.

_My Frankenstein body will be the price I pay _willingly_ for my art and... only pleasure._

Running my fingers over the sometimes smooth scars and sometimes jagged and rough, I wonder if perhaps anyone would be curious if they saw my body. Accidentally, a finger ghost over one of the many words that seemed to have been stitched intentionally, and the thin, pale and chapped lips pulled and stretched into a feral sly grin. _Murderer_. _Sinner._ _Death. _A shudder passes through the body and rocks at the base of the spine but…

_The dead do not fear. I am fearless._

"Were these all the words you thought are synonymous to me, mother dearest?" I whispered snidely as my fingers continued to ghost over the other words that I had stitched long ago. I laugh a dark rich laughter as I shake my wet hair and re-enter the bedroom. Perhaps the answer to that question might be one of the secrets she brought with her... not that it matters. Perhaps what would be more..._amusing_ would be the wonders of my glorious torso. What stories do I weave, what lies do I concoct and what truths should I reveal? Oh life is such a teasing essence.

_C'est la vie._

Opening the wardrobe, I feel my face scrunch in immediate annoyance and my smirk slips away as my eyes rove across the varied clothes. It is not because they are garish and bright, but they are certainly well-fitting and at worst, too tight. I take out a pair of black trousers and a white shirt and begin my arduous work to dress up. Pity, I had to remove the intricate designs.

_La vie est juste. _I cannot have everything going my way; where's the fun in that? Oh I am so _so _in love with life.


	15. Entrance To Capitol

**A/N (Glossy): This is another short chapter, but definitely read it. Make sure to keep up with the forum! In the reviews tell me who you think the four tributes that Danus mentioned are! I am also sad to say that Fords has dropped out of the story. He will be another bloodbath tribute.**

**Thicket Moors, 16 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 11 Male**

As our train pulls up to the Capitol, I can't help but gravitate towards the train windows. The Capitol is a beautiful place, for somewhere that was nearly destroyed during war. I can see the Presidential mansion from where we pull into the train station. Capitolites, all dressed in flamboyant clothes, crowd the train station. For a minute, I almost forget where I am and where I'm going. In that minute, all I can think about is how much Jasmine would have loved everything. The colors, the lights, the fancy and pretty things… she would have a blast in the Capitol.

Thoughts of Jasmine, however, remind me why she's not here with me. A shiver runs up my spine just thinking of my youngest sister on her way to her death. Or worse, being on the train with my sister on the way to _our_ death.

I shudder again, turning away from the window and glancing at the only two other people on the train with us. Arsenia looks up from her nails where she was adding a thick coat of red nail polish. Over at the dining table, Emry pokes at her breakfast, and I look at her sympathetically. She had receded into herself ever since we boarded the train. I hadn't heard her utter a word to anyone during the entire Train Ride.

I pluck a jam-filled pastry off the cooling rack, going to sit across from Emry. Again, my thoughts float back home, this time on Gardenia. She loved sweets more than any of us. Pastries were a rarity in our home, but every once in awhile I would do a little extra work – mowing the lawn of one of the rich folks or doing a little handy work for a few shopkeepers – and have enough to get us donuts or candies. Of course, I would have to give everyone else some before I told Gardenia, because more often than not Gardenia would eat them up from everybody. She would just love the assorted baked goods and treats they have in the train here, all at our disposal.

"Well, we're arrived," Arsenia says, standing. She gives us each a quick once over, making sure we're presentable for the cameras, before pressing the button to open the train doors. Almost immediately, we're swarmed with bright lights of the cameras and people shouting random questions at us.

"How was your train ride?" _Flash_.

"Is your family proud that you're here?" _Click_.

"What do you think of your District partner?" _Flash_.

"Are you planning to kill or be killed?" _Click_. At one point, I make the mistake of putting my arm in front of my eyes to shield them from the camera flashes. Arsenia hisses and yanks it down, glaring at me before turning and smiling at one of the cameramen. As soon as we're inside the Remake Centre, she flicks my ear. I hiss and glare at her.

"Don't ever try to shield yourself from the cameras," she warns. "The whole point of these things is to show you off. You have to be camera-ready twenty-four-seven. And they have to always be able to see your face." She looks at both Emry and I before sighing and guiding us to two doors.

"These are your chariot preparation rooms. I'll meet you after the chariots. Try not to do anymore stupid things, yes?" Arsenia nods to each us before click-clacking away on her impossibly high heels. I turn to look at Emry, but she's already entering her preparation room.

Bracing myself, I twist the knob on the door.

**Sabrina Partridge, 16 (written by RowlingTribute91)**

**District 6 Female**

While we're on the train, I don't attempt speaking with my district partner, Sans. It's not that I dislike him. He seems fun to be around. But that's the problem, see.

Watching him die would become twice as difficult if we get to know each other more. Time for making friends ran out the second my name was called.

I do promise myself one thing, however: that I won't be his killer. If I can help it, I won't kill a single tribute.

Albus, our mentor, sits by a window. He urges, "Hey, Sabrina, check out this view while you can. I bet you've never seen anything like this."

Sans is looking through another window. Amazed. Grudgingly, I move from the chair I occupy and join them.

"It is pretty awesome," I admit. When you set aside the reason for our arrival here, anyways.

I've been to the Capitol's train station before. But not like this. Even so, I can't stop marveling at the skyscrapers, gleaming from every angle. The frosted mountains, providing a gorgeous backdrop. We don't have any mountains in District 6; so it's almost like we're in a different world altogether.

Hordes of people wait to greet us. It's unbelievable, the clothes they wear. Stuff I'd never put on in a million years.

Sans cracks a grin of relief. "Look at how they're dressed. I mean, that's…"

"You'd blend right in," I observe.

"Probably would," he agrees. "Should I take that in a good way?"

"Yeah." Smile, Sabrina. You can at least be nice. Neither of us asked for this. I curl up my lips into a meager grin.

"Since we're almost at our destination," Albus says, "I'm sure you remember what comes now. The tribute parade. You'll be separated to meet your prep teams, and they'll get you ready for tonight."

"Right away? It's barely afternoon," I argue.

"Believe me, they use every second of time on you. Appearance counts a lot when you're in front of sponsors. Especially if you're a girl. As they say, you never get a second chance at a first impression. Maybe it's not your cup of tea-"

No, really? Could he tell by the sour look on my face? Haha. I've never seen the point of makeup or fashion or glamour. Looking beautiful doesn't pay bills. Definitely won't save me in the arena. I have to do more if I want sponsors.

"-but you should just grin and bear it," Albus continues. "Enjoy the ridiculousness. Be a good sport. After all, worse things have happened."

Ain't that the truth.

Finally, our ride comes to an end at a building labeled as the Remake Center. Beside it is the Training Center, with twelve levels. How creative.

Albus notices my curiosity and says, "It's not just for training. Once the parade's done, you'll be spending all of your time there."

"Aw," Sans remarks. "That's a bummer."

"Wait until you see your suite!" Faustinus Crumplehorn suddenly exclaims. He (she?) has been patiently quiet while Albus talks, but you can tell he (or she) is dying to be home in the Capitol. Our escort opens the door for us.

Let's get this show on the road.

**Casker Drummond, 16 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 3 Male**

This train ride has been downright dreadful. Fionola has spent the whole time grilling me on what talents I have and pinching what little muscle I have, and Fleur has been trying to make small talk about the other tributes. I don't know what it is, but talking about the people who are going to be trying to kill me puts butterflies in my stomach.

The good news is that I found something that we rarely have in District 3 in the train. I asked an avox for laxatives, if I remember correctly, and I was not disappointed. If I had all of these tools back in District 3 with Colin we would have had so much fun.

But I'm not with Colin. I'm with Fleur and Fionola. Neither of which I particularly like, but if I had to choose one I dislike more, Fionola would win. That's why this morning I slid a chocolate laxative onto her plate. The dumb woman ate it without a second thought.

The timing is set up beautifully. If the packaging on the laxative is accurate, then she will be having quite the accident right as we get off of the train.

Fionola raps on my door and I swing it open. 'You look happy Casker! Are you glad to be in the Capitol?"

I guess she saw my grin. "Yeah. You have no idea how excited I am. I think getting off of this train will be a very memorable experience."

"That's the spirit. We arrive in ten so get ready."

No matter how much I hate the Capitol, it is a place of wonder. Looking out at the magnificent city is stunning and I can see other train coming in from the other side of the city.

We start to slow down and I look down at myself. I have a nice blue shirt on, with jeans. Casual, but not scummy. That should go over well with the Capitol.

The brakes stop the train and I peer out the window. There are dozens, maybe hundreds of people waving at us. I just wave back and look over to Fleur who is waving.

Fionola calls to us. "Come on children, we have arrived."

We start to walk to the center where we will be prepped for our train rides when I hear it. It sounds as if Fionola ripped it as loud as possible and I can't help but snicker. The cameras start clicking a little faster and we get a little more breathing room as we walk by. The Capitol is going to remember me.

**Danus Nichalson, 35**

**Head Gamemaker**

This batch is fine. The elegant boy from 1, the train conductor girl from 6, the tough looking boy from 7, and the little girl from 8 all catch my eye. There are others that interest me, but those four look particularly promising. Who knows though? I also choose four that I like and they generally do pretty well, but two years ago all four died in the bloodbath.

There is another set of four though. These ones I did not choose. The President chose them. His orders were clear. Don't let them win. I always have a couple of these, and so far I haven't failed once. I'm sure that I will eliminate them quickly. And if they win, I will be eliminated just as quickly.


	16. Preparation

**A/N (Glossy): **I don't have much to say. I do need more chapters from you guys though, so keep getting them in. The more you do, the higher your chance of survival in the arena will be. Also, vote on the new poll!

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

I was fuming as I sat waiting for my stylist to come into the room. Absolutely nothing was going my way and it had all started going downhill right from the moment I met my mentor. Klara Kosar was actually doing her nails when I first saw her. I stood, a little confused for a moment, before stepping up and holding out my hand.

"Klara Kosar? Valeria. It's an honor to meet you."

She glanced up at me with a wispy smile and waved my hand off.

Slightly offput, I decided instead to take a seat in front of her and asked, "So, what's next?"

"Hmm?" She seemed determined not to even glance at me, too focused on her nails. "Umm…you go to the Capitol, you meet your stylist, you train, and then it's the games."

My temper was already simmering at this point. "Well, yes, but I mean, 'What's the plan?' How are you going to make me a winner?"

"You already know everything. You don't need me."

"I know fighting, but I don't know presentation. My teachers leave that to the mentors. You're obviously better equipped considering that you've won the games."

She shrugged. "I'm sure whatever you come up with will be fine."

"You're supposed to be helping me!"

She giggled as if it was all a game and flipped her blonde hair. "Now don't be like that. No one likes a bitch."

"Who are you calling 'bitch?" I replied hotly, standing up and clenching my fists.

"Fine," she said with a sigh and put her nail polish away. "You're leagues ahead of everyone else, so don't sweat the small stuff."

"Small stuff?! This is my life!" I tried to keep it down because I certainly didn't want Lucas hearing my argument with my own mentor, but this was more than I could take. Where was the assertive woman who became a victor at fourteen years of age? Whoever this blonde bimbo was, she certainly wasn't the victor from the 9th Hunger Games. "The other careers are still a problem," I gritted through my teeth.

"Meh," she replied returning to her nails. "Oh no, you've ruined the even coat!"

That was the last straw. I considered a moment knocking the nail polish away, but that might make my life more miserable than it already was. "Forget I asked anything," I snapped and stormed back into my room.

I hadn't talked to anybody sense and the experience did not improve. While the Capitol was a stunning place, the view lasted mere seconds and then I was shipped down to my prep team, who spent the next five hours pulling the hair from my body, shaping my hair to the stylist's wants, and making snide comments.

"Dear Lord, cellulite at your age? Yech!"

"Why do you have so many dark spots on your skin. They're gross!"

"Dark spots? Those are moles," I cried out more loudly than I had intended and turned red, not out of embarrassment but in anger.

The prep member with the lime green hair and the white make-up with dark spots around her eyes like a raccoon made an 'o' face of shock.

"You still have moles! Don't you know those can lead to cancer!"

What is cancer, I thought, but I merely glared at her. "My moles are fine!"

It felt like an insult that they spent so long standing over my naked body, making their offhand comments like I was a pig they had to beautify. I will be the first to admit that I am hardly the most beautiful girl at school, but I am certainly not ugly and they reminded me of every bully in school that I had to deal with before I became a Tribute when I was ten.

Now, as I was waiting for my stylist to finally join me, I made a silent wish that I had gotten a good stylist. I already knew who my stylist was going to be: Ventas. He was a strange person who had dyed his skin gold, wore black lipstick, walked around in skintight leather pants and neon shirts. I certainly can't say I cared for his style, but he does a decent job each year to make our Tributes at least look glamorous, if not absolutely stunning.

When he entered, I immediately stood up from where I had been sitting naked and evaluated him. Just as I remember, he was wearing a blinding pink shirt with white leather pants.

He was eyeing me like he might eye a new neon shirt.

"Well, well, what do we have here," he said, rubbing his hands together like an evil villain. The cliché made me curl my lip up in disgust. "Not nearly as bad as the prep team was going on about. Your skin looks good after a nice polishing and you have lovely curves if I do say so myself. A bit short though…"

I glared. He was speaking about my height like it could be changed! At least I hoped it couldn't be changed.

"A little pudgy, but nothing your dresses shouldn't be able to hide. Oh, you're going to look so good tonight!"

"What are you going to dress me in tonight?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head over it. I will make you look fantastic! Simply fantastic!"

I had to close my eyes and count to fifty before I felt it was safe enough for me to address my stylist. "So what am I going to be dressed as?"

"I've got an amazing idea for you to show off that warrior spirit."

I smirked. This at least was what I was hoping for. I wanted to be taken seriously as a strong contender. "Great! And it is…?" Maybe third time was the charm.

"You'll be wearing the traditional garb of the Amazon warrior queen."

"A what?"

An hour later I found myself standing at my chariot wearing a bikini of silver with sapphire jewels weaved into the edge, uncomfortably cutting into my skin. I knew sexy was an element I had to carry, but that didn't make me happier for it. The only thing I liked about the whole get-up was that my hair had been taken and braided behind me just as I liked it. My darker than normal skin had been pasted over with white make-up and great big globs of blush made me think of a doll rather than a warrior, but if this is what I was going to wear, then I was going to wear it well!

**Paisley "Blue" Button, 13 (written by TheSnowyAngel)**

**District 8 Female**

Gabe and I are lead into a room filled with hairbrushes, makeup and other Capitol things. Shay tells us to lay on a metal bed before pulling a curtain in between to separate us. "Okay, now stay here and behave," she says. "The stylist will be here any minute now to make you both look your best. I'll see you in a while."

It takes about 20 minutes before someone actually comes. They don't say anything and start on me immediately. There are 3 of them; the girl brushes the tangles out of my hair while the boys do my makeup. It isn't much, just some powder and lip-gloss. They also used a pencil thing to draw wing-like shapes on my eyelids.

When they're finished, the girl (whose name is Sylvania) calls for the stylist to come in. Her hair is a floral green with flower clips stuck everywhere. She wears a pink and white dress that has patterns of butterflies and dragonflies everywhere. "Hello honey, my name is Spring! I'll be your stylist!"

She inspects me from head to toe, shaking her head at my chewed up nails and my hair's split ends. "Let's get to work!"

It takes about another hour with the stylist washing and drying my hair then washing it again. Spring insists on cutting my hair, but there is no way I'm letting her. Finally we're done; Spring walks off for a minute to grab my outfit.

"Here you go!" she says as she hands it to me. I frown a little, something looks odd. I slip the dress on as well as the boots. Sylvania passes me to a mirror and I feel like I'm about to puke.

"Spring, I think this dress is too big."

"No, it's just perfect!" she says, admiring her work. "You're supposed to show a little skin!"

This is not just skin! The dress is in a patchwork design with bright red, blue and yellow fabric sewn together. It falls just below my mid thigh, showing my bare legs. The bust barely covers my chest and I have a bare back. "Could we please add more fabric? I don't feel comfortable like this."

"Nonsense!" Shay says. I turn to see her hands on her hips. "This will get the public to notice you! It's perfect."

"For the Careers maybe!" I yell. "There is no way I'm wearing this!"

That's when Shay starts to yell at me, I stumble backwards at her sudden outburst. Luckily Vas comes running before she could do anything drastic. "What's going on?" he asks.

"She is being stubborn and totally foolish! It's as if she doesn't want to live!" Shay yells.

Vas sighs, "I'll talk to her, can you all please leave us for a while?"

"Fine, tributes go on in 30 minutes." Shay struts away with Spring and the stylist following her.

Vas turns to me and I huff at him. "There is no way you can convince me to do what they say!"

"That's why I'm not going to." I look at him confused until he pulls out some fabric and two needles and thread. "Come on, go put on your other gown and we'll fix this together."

"Thank you!" I say before giving him a tight hug.

"Watch out! I got sharp things in my hands!"

We spend the next few minutes stitching the fabric together. You'd think it would take forever but it surprisingly takes 25 minutes, giving me 5 minutes to try it on again. This time, the dress has covered up most of my chest and legs. We left the back as it was because we didn't have any more fabric. Yes, this is more like me.

Shay comes back with a disappointed look on her face. "Fine! Keep it as it is! Don't blame me if you don't get any sponsors!" She pulls me away and grabs Gabe's arm before dragging us to the chariots.

Gabe's attire is similar to mine, except it's shirt and pants. They did their best to shows his abs, but I don't think he liked it either.

As we wait for someone to signal us to get onto the chariot, I spot the District 12 male. I admire his bravery, the way he came late to the reaping and didn't freak out. I knew I would, I think I'll go talk to him…

**Casker Drummond, 16 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 3 Male**

Now that we have entered the preparation center, Fionola is leading us to the rooms where they will prepare us for the chariot rides. It's such a frivolous part of the Games, the Capitol gawks and waves at the children that they are sending to their deaths and we have to pretend to enjoy it.

I'm not saying I'm not going to have fun. I'll blow some spitballs at the careers in front of me, maybe a few at the ones behind and maybe even a few into the crowd. I could do without pissing off the gamemakers, but I think that them seeing me as a prankster won't hurt. Most of the tributes are so sad and gloomy, so it would be nice to see a prankster for a change.

We arrive in the room where I will be prepped after a few minutes. I go and sit down a thin piece of paper over a bed. After about five minutes, a group of three women walk in giggling. I can hear them gossiping about some of the tributes. It's amazing that they can be so stupid, but still be trusted to prep us for our showcase to the Capitol.

They start by plucking hairs everywhere. This takes a good ten minutes before they are satisfied and then they scrub off so much of my skin, that I am completely red.

After an hour of agonizing pain from the prep team, my stylist comes in.

"You're better than what I usually get, but still you aren't much compared to District 1 or 2."

I can already tell that this woman will not be getting along with me. "Oh. I'm sorry that I didn't have consistent meals my whole life. You clearly had more than enough." I say as I gesture to her stomach.

She stares at me for a second and then presses a button on the wall. An avox opens the door and drops off a costume. It is a shiny suit with a hat with a large metal antenna.

"That looks so dumb."

"Just put it on. I'm going to go talk to Fionola."

What a stupid woman. She has a year to prepare a costume and she ends up giving me a really stupid one. These people never cease to amaze me with their stupidity.

**Paige Kraft, 15 (written by yellint22)**

**District 10 Female**

My mother would love this place, I think as I allow my gaze to float around her dream. Make up products line the walls, other torture device litter the surfaces. Nothings seems right, nothing seems nice. It is this sense of dread and fear that sends a shiver through my spine, causing me to wrap my arms around my already hunched shoulders.

"Right darling, lets get a look at you!" an extravagantly dressed woman exclaims. Product is covering the wrinkles and craters of her face with it's orange glow. Extreme is the word that springs to my mind to describe her smile, something that is on the same level of fakeness as the one I have grown up with, and now haunts my dreams with the life I had escaped. Neon red hair falls around her face in sharp spikes. However this mask falls when she sees me sat on the table.

"I don't see why you get so excited every year Kalet, scrawny kids like this are the reason you are let down every year," the man behind ,who I now presume to be Kalet, explains, his face curling in disgust as his eyes rake over my body.

"I'm the best you could hope for" I snarl, showing my chipped front tooth. Surprised he jumps back from me, his face suggesting I will bite. Hair ruffled, he shots a stare at me, one filled with anger and hate. If I had kept my emotions after my best and only friend gave his life in the way I am about to, this would bother me. But still I feel nothing, emotions having become so rare for me my brain is rationing them and wasting them on these a-holes is not necessary in it's view.

"I have a good mind to just let Yori deal with you as you are now," he replies, his yellow eyes shinning with a hatred I have become so familiar with.

"Tunx lets just deal with her and send her off," Kalet sighs, walking towards me, energy now subtracted from her persona.

"Fine," he complains, following her towards me. Shoving me down, he continues to look over my form. "Who did your hair, it's truly horrible" he exclaims, pulling at the blue tips before letting to swing back and whack my throat.  
>"I did," I spit into his face.<p>

"I should have known that," he mutters, before moving to grab one of the torture devices. I want to attack him. He has no right to talk to me like that, ever. My hair is my choice, my way of expressing my self. Not something they had a right to judge me on. But I stay calm, fighting now would get back to others and make them scared of me, something I will never want. I need them to think they can fight me so they would come and win. So I let their ageless hands scrub, polish, buff and attack my skin; while I just lie there, taking all the pain.

"There. Done," Kalet sighs, wheeling her self away from me.

"You look like a slightly less dirty peasant now," Tunx tells me, standing up and gesturing for me to go into a small room off the main stage. Maybe this is where they will just put me out of my misery and let me die. Of course they wouldn't, I am the entertainment.

Confidently I stride away from them, not caring what they think of me. Sadly the room isn't a gas chamber and doesn't contain a man eating tiger, no just another table. Well this is interesting, I think as I look around the room.

"Alright, lets get this over with" a strained voice croaks, her face is withered beyond concealment. Even the capitol stylists don't want to make an effort, her paint sinking to the cracks and hiding in their trenches. "Fine, we'll just cut off the hair and it will be fine" she remarked, glaring at the blue tips. When she moved to touch one however, my hand sprung forward grabbing her wrist.

"You touch my hair and I will slowing rip each one of your implants from your face." I hiss as I press her arm to her back.

"Fine, blue haired chicken it is then, I hope you realize you will look stupid" she mutters. Ironically however it isn't my hair that looks stupid, even after it has been pulled so tightly into the head dress that you can barely see the offending color, it was her costume. The yellow body suit grips tightly to my figure, feathers falling off onto the floor with every tiny movement of the wind. I look ridiculous. Even Matt would have laughed at me, saying this was funnier than when Karen put me into my first night gown which I ripped after hitting the floor with laughter at the horrible pink color.

"Well, lets get you down there" the woman half smiles, suggesting even she knows just how bad I look,


	17. At The Chariots

**A/N (Glossy): **Well here's another chapter. Make sure to get all of yours in!

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

"Hey! Wait up!" An excited little girl bounces towards me with a huge silly grin, "You're Hayden right? I'm Paisley."

I stare at her quietly. Interesting. A little girl no more than presumably fourteen years of age, with sparkly innocent eyes and a naïve smile, is standing excitedly in front of me. Looking her up and down, I narrow my eyes.

_She is a tribute. A prey. _

"From whom have you heard my name?" I am curious. She does not look like she is from the Seam and yet she knows my name. Has my fame precedes me? How intriguing; my community does not know my name and yet an outsider knows. How _very peculiar. _

"I saw your reaping," she answers earnestly, the smile has not slipped yet but I feel my lips curling slowly into a malicious sneer, "I think it's pretty cool that you came late."

Would she still be jubilant if she knew why I was late? Would she still be standing in such close proximity if she knew? She is most certainly a little girl who has not seen the horrors of life and certainly well shielded by a set of loving family members. She is nothing more than a pathetic spoilt little princess who assumes the world must bow to her glorious presence. How utterly ridiculous and stupid.

I shake my head and sneer, "How utterly naïve. You're no more than a pubescent child if you thought it as something as shallow as cool."

She stomps her feet and stare indignantly. _Another easily riled prey. Weaklings._ "Why would you say that? Usually people like you would be dragged off by the peacekeepers!"

I stare at her bored. She is most certainly weaker than the sacrificial lamb that tries to act tough, my darling partner Exella. I glance at my partner and then back at the spoilt princess in front of me. "And I should fear the peacekeepers?" I tilt my head and mock her, "How foolish." This girl truly has never experience any of life's greatest horrors. I chuckle dryly and quietly.

"You're not being very nice, you know?"

_As if I care what your opinions are. _"And the world shall bow and humor you, a mere whelp?" I ask mockingly as I scan the array of my fellow cast. Interesting. There are wolves and many rabbits. _We shall see which wolf comes out on top. _

"No, I think you should be nicer. I'm just trying to be your friend."

Persistent and annoying little insect. I blink very slowly and enunciate my next few words very very slowly so that even a fumbling idiot would understand. Perhaps, I should have made my opinion clearer and much earlier. "I have no need for burdens." I brushed past but little insect simply refuses to give way and had the audacity to demand that I cater to her and answer her question.

"So the little princess has demanded," I sigh dramatically as I look heavenwards and then I bring my face closer to her and whisper darkly, "I'm _shuddering_... Will you execute me for defiance?"

"No, I'll just make you miss your chariot ride." She tries her hardest to sound menacing with such an idle threat and a pathetic evil smile. This whelp is much too deplorable. I sigh heavily and run a hand through my messy hair.

"Halt me all you want, little princess. I'm last in line," I smirk condescendingly as I fold my arms across my chest and lean casually against the wall, "You, on the other hand, will selfishly bring ruin to your partner, your district and of course your very loving family." I smile cruelly when I see the flash of horror and regret grace her face and I continued a little more cruelly, "Nothing less I would expect from a demanding spoilt little princess."

How amusing watching the myriad of emotions displayed across her face. I click my tongue as I wait patiently for the prey to try her hardest to move me. _Pathetic_. If she thought she could move me, her perception is clearly lacking. "Come on Hay-Hay! Just tell me why you're grumpy!"

I raise an eyebrow at her feeble attempt and ridiculous name calling. This has truly dragged on for far too long. I push against the wall and walk away leaving her a scathing remark, "Name calling? Very immature of you, little princess." If I thought my cruelty and mocking remarks would deter her, the persistent and highly annoying insect continues to follow and buzz behind me.

"I don't think you realize this, but you gave me a nickname too! I like little princess!" she smiles happily and easily and frankly, I really hope she would just be quiet. She reminds me too much of Her Highness who chatters endlessly about inanity and more inanity. Of course, one is as useless and weak as the other.

_Preys and fodder waiting to be swallowed._

Closing my eyes and breathing in deeply, I turn to face her and sneer, "Such innocence; if naivete doesn't kill you, the wolves will." It is true. A prey has no place in the war of predators. The ones residing at the lowest segment of the hierarchy would be the first to be eaten in the dog-eat-dog world.

"So? They'll kill you too if you don't get any allies," she continue insisting in her futile attempts in roping me in, "You want to go back to your family, don't you?"

I laugh dryly and shake my head. How truly deplorable. Thank the stars, Exella is not as foolish although that girl is also a willing sacrificial lamb resigned to her fate. "They're more than welcome to try; I shall await the meeting," I smile feral as I climb onto the chariot, "Run along little princess, your time to meet the fans draw near."

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

I walked over to our pure black horses and began stroking them. I think I heard somewhere that being with animals and touching them can help relieve stress, which is something that seemed to be compounding on me. It felt like I was stepping away from all of that and for a brief moment, I felt free.

But good things do not last.

"My lady, you look absolutely beautiful tonight."

I inwardly sighed, but turned to face the man with a small smile. I had to stifle a laugh at his attire. He was dressed all in blue, which did set off his eyes, but there were bells on his belt that jingled with every movement of his body and…were those tambourines on his arms? Not to mention, the entire outfit looked as scanty as mine and, I'm sorry, but I had a difficult time believing he could pull it off as well as a woman, no matter his blonde beauty.

"District 1, I presume?" I said with a grin and I held out my hand to shake, but he reached for it and planted a kiss on my knuckles instead.

I was more than a little taken aback. He's one of those types, I told myself and once again resisted the urge to yank my hand away and disengage myself. Keep it together. You need this to stay alive in the games!

"'Tis Saffron at your service."

"Valeria," I reply.

"A name as lovely as yourself."

Another silent sigh. Did he really think he could melt all the girl tributes with that? I glanced over at where his own district partner hadn't left the horses. She was watching our conversation and when we locked eyes, she smiled at me, but there was nothing friendly about it. It was predatory. It was vicious. However, it was considerably less intimidating attached to a person in that outfit.

I smiled in return until she started walking over.

This was bound to be inevitable. The careers had to at least acknowledge their alliance to each other so that we could all be on the same page. I wouldn't get far in the games without the advantage of the cornucopia, but my instinctual reaction was to get away from the fighting and hide out somewhere, picking people off, but that strategy is virtually impossible as a career until the end games.

I would have to tolerate my fellow careers for now.

"District 2," the girl said, with that same eerie smile.

"District 1," I replied.

"Velvet," she said, holding out her hand.

I didn't hesitate to take her hand – control was the key – but I had a difficult time resisting the temptation to break her wrist as she tried to break the bones in my hand.

"Valeria."

"I look forward to killing you."

If her predatory smile hadn't tipped me off before, this response certainly does. This was not a Tribute to take lightly. I thought about taunting her, but for someone like this I had the suspicion that it would simply put a target on my back. Just like her taunt has put a target on her.

Let her rampage against the weaker districts; her rapaciousness will make my job easier. For a brief moment however, I imagined her going up against those two young girls and shuddered. We were told everyday by our teachers to not pity the other districts, but it was hard not to. The unfairness of pitting 12-year-olds against 18-year-olds galled me.

It would make everything easier for me, but it was still so sad.

"You'll have your work cut out for you," I replied. It was a very minor taunt, probably not enough to prioritize me over the other districts, so I would escape at the beginning, but I was going to do my damndest to insure that she got nowhere near the victory.

"Hah! Neither one of you are up to facing me, because I'm the champ," Lucas decided to jump at that moment, causing us both to direct our glares at him. "But just so we're clear, we'll stick together in the beginning, right?"

My bones cracked under the pressure Velvet put on it as she turned to Lucas. If looks could kill, I wouldn't currently be putting up with my district partner.

Lucas has no tact. I asked myself, Why would the best fighter in the school deliberately advertise that to all of his opponents? I don't know why I am surprised that he can trump his arrogance at every opportunity, but it does.

"Tributes, it is time to mount your chariots," A loud voice over an intercom sounded and Velvet ripped her hand away, ripping away some of the skin on my palm as well, but I did my best to ignore the pain radiating from my hand.

"So, we're in agreement to team up, right?" Saffron asked, still standing his ground.

"Lucas and I have agreed to band together with the rest of the careers," I said, since Lucas had already walked away.

"Tributes, it is time to mount your chariots."

"It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, m'lady. I look forward to working with you." Saffron bowed gallantly to me. I rolled my eyes while his head was down and then he strode off towards his chariot like he was the hero.

If only I could get away with walking like that. But a lady could never look that confident, but I would show them what I was made of and if my chances were improved by wearing this horrible sexy Amazon warrior to do it, then so be it.

Thankfully since our conversation on the train, Lucas had kept his distance from me and even though we had to ride shoulder to shoulder now, he still stood far enough away that no part of our bodies touched. Good, I thought to myself. I didn't think I could keep my temper. Then again punching him off the float might make me look like a firecracker, but despite all of my scheming, I was not a particularly aggressive person. I preferred not to throw the first punch.

It was only as our chariot started moving, that I glanced down to the hand Velvet had attempted to break that my eyes widened. Three bloody streaks arced across my palms that were continuing to ooze blood.

It made one thing clear: Velvet needed to be stopped before things got too far out of control. And I would be the one to do it.

I could hardly wave to the crowd with a bloody hand, so I used my left hand and smiled widely, throwing kisses out to the crowd where I was pleased to see they were grabbed and pressed to the receiver's mouth. After the stress of the last three days, it seemed like my chances were improving, but I learned a valuable lesson.

I could count only on myself. There would be no one else.

**Thicket Moors, 16 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 11 Male**

I shake the jitters from my body, bouncing around near the chariots while I wait for Emry to arrive. My outfit is simple and but completely sexualized. It's some sort of brown and golden swirl that curls around our important parts, leaving the rest of our body to shine with the yellow glitter they added. My stylist, Atticus, says it was a wreath. It looks nothing like a wreath.

Dark eyeliner lines my eyes and they have styled my hair into a jerry curl. The added the glitter and eyeliner last minute, when they realized I looked bit bland. Any and every hair has been stripped off my body, especially a few offending pubic hairs that apparently didn't look well with the outfit. I don't think I'll ever grow a single hair back, ever.

I reach to run my fingers through my hair for the fourth time in the past hour and Atticus slaps my hand away, glaring.

"Quit that," he snaps at me. Like a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar, I lower my eyes to the ground. Realizing that I'm beginning to get restless, I quietly brush the mane on one of the chestnut colored horses that pull our chariot.

"Hi there," I whisper to the horse. "I'm Thicket. I seem to be going insane because I'm talking to a horse but… I'm bored and sleep deprived so how are you?" The horse whinnies quietly and I smile a bit, "I know, this damned Capitol is driving me insane too. Well, at least they're not going to send you to death… unless you have a broken leg or something."

"Thicket!" A sharp voice calls. I turn to see Arsenia walking next to Emry, who looks uncomfortable in her outfit. If I thought my outfit was bad, I spoke too soon. Emry looks not like the sixteen-year-old girl she is, but somewhat like the women in my District who have sleep with men for money.

"Ready?" Arsenia asks, helping her into the chariot. Our feet are bare, the wooden floor of the Chariot digging into my toes. Emry simply sighs loudly at her inability to get into the chariot on her own. She could, but Arsenia has been treating us like we're incapable of breathing by ourselves.

Emry pulls at her wreath uncomfortably, trying to keep her modesty. Sighing, I pat her shoulder. "It's disgusting, I know, but the sleazier the better. Disgusting Capitol men will be lining up to sponsor you." She doesn't reply, but she does stop to tinkering with her outfit.

As District 6 slowly files out, Emry crosses her arms over her chest and glares at the chariots ahead of us. I duck my head, chewing my lip. District 7 exits, followed by 8, 9 and 10. Atticus gives us a once over, carefully examining our outfits before he slaps the rump of our horses and we begin to roll out.

Careful not to shield my eyes against the bright flash of light, I put on my best sneer and straighten up, preparing for the crowd.


	18. Chariot Rides

**A/N (Glossy): **Close Your Eyes is up so I would submit to that if you have not already. The submissions are open for a long time so make sure your tribute is unique! This is a really short chapter.

**Gabe Newman, 17 (written by Grand Coconut)**

**District 8 Male**

District Seven's chariot lurches forward through the curtains and disappears from sight. Our chariot moves closer to the exit and that means we're up next. Paisley stands beside me, quivering with nerves, but I don't pay her that much attention.

I have to focus on myself. I have to focus on making a good impression with these capitol people.

I know I've been coming across as cold and unapproachable ever since I've boarded that train yesterday, but I don't want to act any other way. I'm not _feeling_ any other way. I kind of just want to isolate myself and pout until this whole thing is over, but I know I can't do that. I have to fight for my right to stay alive now.

Ever since my dad's visit in the justice building, it's been digging up all these feelings that I have exhausted myself trying to shove down all these years. All the bad memories, all the nightmares, all the anger and resentment I keep locked away inside of me... I was doing such a good job avoiding those feelings lately, but the minute I saw his face again, it just made me remember everything I was trying to forget.

How can something so small make you feel so angry?

I cried myself to sleep the first night on the train and it was awful. I don't think anyone heard me, and I sure hope they didn't, but I was having a really rough night. I felt like a different person. I was scared and confused. I felt singled out and alone. When I got reaped, I wasn't worried about anything, but when I went to bed last night I just felt like a naive little boy again. I didn't want to die yet. I wasn't ready for such a big challenge.

That was a one time thing though. I'm not going to cry anymore. I'm a strong kid, I swear I am, but everyone has their moments every now and then, and I guess that was mine.

I feel more like myself today, but I still don't trust these people. There are 23 other girls and boys here, probably planning my death as we speak, and I refuse to give them the impression that I'm someone they can kill. I'm not a weakling and I'll be damned if they peg me for one.

Not only am I smart, but I'm tenacious. I'll take on every single person here if I have to.

When our chariot jolts forward, I hear Paisley gasp and I give her a look. I get that she's frightened, but _man_ that girl is skittish. I don't even flinch when we move. I adjust my sleeve before we exit the backstage area and take a deep breath. _Here we go._

As we slip past the curtains, my eyes are bombarded with the biggest explosion of color I have ever seen in my life. Neon greens, oranges, and yellows. Glittering blues, reds and purples. Rainbows, metallics, and pastels. Sequins, feathers, rhinestones, leather. Everything gaudy and glamorous. The hundreds of thousands of capitolites in the stands dance and wave as cameras flash and my ears are blasted with the screams and cheers of their voices. The ones in the back rows are as small as little dots.

I catch a glimpse of my blonde head on the big screen and look up. When I meet my own gaze, I see that I'm looking pretty stoic and hard. In an attempt to loosen up a bit, I make myself smile and wave more.

This makes the crowd scream loud and I glance over at Paisley to see her doing the same, only she's a lot more enthusiastic than I am.

As we near the end of our grand entrance, the horses pull into a spot next to the tributes from Seven. The girl looks nervous, and when I catch a look at the boy, he has the same fearful look in his eyes that she does.

_Typical, _I think to myself with a roll of my eyes.

From the corner of my eye, I catch someone looking my way from a few chariots down. I crane my head forward until I can see them better. If I'm counting the spaces between us correctly, it's the boy from District Three. He has dark brown hair, blue eyes, and he's definitely looking right at me. When he sees that I have met his gaze, he smirks, and his smirk quickly stretches into a smile. I take a moment before I decide that he seems friendly enough. I smile back for a second before I turn away.

When I turn away though, the smile still remains on my lips.

Look at me, I'm making friends already.


	19. Training Day 1

**A/N (Glossy): **Very few people have gotten both of their chapters in or look like they are going to. I have no problem with a large bloodbath and if you don't want to be a part of that submit some more chapters.

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

Faustinus told me that since I didn't know how to bear a weapon and I was small, that I should stick to learning to climb trees, hunt, differ poisonous plants and learn to use weapons. Faustinus has been doing most of my mentoring, considering our mentor has been focusing an uncharacteristically amount of focus on Sabrina.

"Okay honey, remember. Stick to long distance weapons; they'll work in your advantage in battle. In case you get cornered, you should learn some hand-to-hand too. You only have three days, Sans. Make it count. Sabrina, you remember your advice from Albus?"

"Yes, I do." She says brusquely, her eyes focused on something else. As soon as the door opens, Faustinus pushes us out and presses the button to leave. She can't stay, I guess. We go to stand next to the District 5 tributes and wait for our training instructor.

I fidget nervously next to Sabrina, who seems to be eyeing the weapons with such an intense stare it scares me. As soon as our instructor – a piece of eye candy named Destul, yum – says we're dismissed, she practically bolts towards the weapons. Well then.

I decide to make my way over to the healing section. I'll need to know the proper way to treat wounds if I'm going to make it anywhere in these Games. I settle down at the sewing station and notice that I'm practically alone in this division. Most of the kids are crowding the weapons area, and a few are scattered by the plants.

My instructor hands me a spool of thread, a needle, and a fake arm with a very realistic amount of blood pouring from a very deep slash. She sets a timer to a couple of minutes and wanders off, leaving me to figure out what the hell I'm doing.

Vaguely I recall my mother sewing some of my shirts when they got ripped up by a few thugs looking for a new punching bag. I do know how to thread the needle, so I do that first, wetting the tip of the thread on my tongue.

But when it comes down to sewing the actually fucking arm, I just about lose my shit. It looks too realistic, too much like somebody's actual arm. You wanted to try this, I tell myself, now you learn how to do it. Taking I deep breath, I slide the thread into the 'skin' at the very top of the gash.

I just about vomit.

"It helps if you think of it as saving a family member," a soft voice mutters. I look up to see the girl from 8 smiling kindly at me. She can't be older than thirteen, maybe fourteen if she has a young looking face. "I'm Paisley."

"I'm Sans," I say, scooting over. She takes the thread from me and begins to sew, concentrating as she pulls the 'skin' back together. When she's done she grabs a lighter and burns it, cauterizing the wound.

"If it were a real person, it'd live," Paisley announces, grinning at her work.

"Well I'll be damned…" I murmur. The arm's bleeding has stopped and it looks like Paisley's words are true. She did an exceptional job doing something I couldn't. I wonder what else this young girl could do that I can't, because she may just be an asset in these Games. That and I don't want to be alone.

"What else can you do that I can't?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. Paisley shrugs and looks around.

"Everything except use a weapon. But I'm pretty sure you can't do that either," she teases. I mock-gasp and place my hand on my heart, falling back.

"Oh, you've wounded me! Traitor!" I call, pretending to faint. Paisley laughs gently, grabbing my hand and helping me up. I look around, watching as the Careers assemble and bully other tributes.

"We should do something about that," she whispers, following my eyes. I shake my head, running a hand through my brown – brown now, because the lighting in here is god awful – hair.

"No, we shouldn't. Those 'careers' are bad news, and you're way too small to pick a fight with them," I say, ruffling her own hair. I can't believe that the Capitol already picked off who they want their lap dogs to be. The tributes act like this is what they're destined for, like these Games are going to do good for us. It's disgusting.

"But I feel bad…" She sighs, glancing at the Career's current muse.

"Don't. It's none of our business. Let's go teach you some weapons, Paisley," I say. She spares one last glance before following me to another station, where the lethal looking close-range weapons are.

-x-

By the end of our Training Day, I learn that I am really good with hakapiks. Back before the dark days – and this is just what our instructor taught us – they used these weapons to stab baby seals in the eyes and drag them. Paisley nearly cried when the story was told and decided hakapiks weren't the weapons for her. I however, continued to practice with them and I'm decent by the day is over. Sadly, animals won't be the only thing I'll be murdering in the next few days.

I'm reluctant to set the hakapiks down when Faustinus comes to retrieve us. Sabrina is quiet and unresponsive, as per usual, so it's left up to Faustinus and I to make small talk. Easy though, considering we are sort of friends now.

"So what did you learn?" She asks, entering her key card to the elevator. Probably to make sure that no tributes use the elevator for extracurricular activities. The elevator starts up and we begin to rise.

"I learned how to use hakapiks and I think I've made an ally," I say proudly.

"Ally?" Sabrina asks, glancing at me. I can see what she's asking in her eyes. Are you stupid? Because allies mean friends and friends mean attachments and attachments mean vulnerability. And no one can afford vulnerability in these Games.

"Yeah. Paisley Button from 8." I realize I probably look smug, because Sabrina is sending me a look that could kill. Right, can't be too cocky.

"Sans are you fucking insane?" Faustinus asks, glaring at me. I stare at them with shock. What did I do? Is it something I said? This can't possibly be about my ally… can it?

"What?" I ask, genuinely confused. I really don't know what the big deal is.

"You heard me, are you fucking insane? Boy, she's thirteen. She has no chance. None. Zero. Nada. You're basically putting a target on your back saying 'pick me off too'. I want you to end that alliance, tomorrow."

"No!" I yell back, as we arrive on our floor. I go and sit on the armrest of the recliner, glaring at the two of them accordingly. "You're underestimating her! She may not be able to fight well, but these Games aren't about fighting. They're about survival! And she is good at that. She knows things… she's smart. She's useful, no matter how old or small she is."

"If this is about you feeling bad because she got bullied," Sabrina says, plopping on the couch. "Then you need to get your emotions in check. You can't let your past dictate how you operate in these Games."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, tears welling up in my eyes. Shit, Sans. Don't cry! Don't cry, don't let them see you upset… don't cry…

"It means you feel bad for the little girl because she has a past similar to yours," Sabrina replies, shrugging. She seems so comfortable on the stupid love seat with her stupid bored expression just judging me. Doing what she probably did back home.

"Are you fucking serious? How did you even know about that?" I ask. It was a valid question, Paisley hadn't even told me she was bullied until the point in which we were at the archery station.

"I talked with her partner while in line. He pities her."

"So you automatically assume that because of my history that I pity her too?"

"Basically," Faustinus says from over by the bar. She's poured herself a strong drink and is drinking it hastily. Apparently this news about my ally is pissing her off more than I thought. Even though I don't fucking see why.

"Well then you obviously don't know shit about me," I say coldly. Just as I do, Albus exits from his bedroom, rubbing his head. Apparently, we're interrupting his serene nap.

"Why are you all screaming?" He asks, going to where Faustinus is leaning against the bar. He moves past her to glance at Sabrina and I, suspecting Faustinus is the cause of our frustration.

"Sans ally is the girl from 8," Sabrina snitches. I glare at her – more so because she said it like a sneer – and gather my courage to face the red-faced Albus Bonher.

Well, if I wasn't getting yelled at before, Albus sure made sure I was getting yelled at that point.

**Velvet Luxe, 18 (written by BecksTheDivergent)**

**District 1 Female**

I hate him. I hate him. My stylist is a douchebag. He made me look like a girly slut during the parade. Bells? Seriously?

Once I win, I'm going to kill Lucius Chartreuse.

He totally feeled us up. I mean Saffron had to be shirtless? I don't need life to be toddler-approved, but now everybody loves him. He was obviously flirting with Valeria yesterday, who by the way, is way hotter than me, and now I'm jealous. So what do I do? I kill her.

"Velvet! Get up! Get up, get up, get up!" The escort yells through my door, opens it, and pushes me out of bed with her stupid lavender umbrella, which she insists is a parisol. She stats prodding me more once I fall to the floor, hopelessly entangled in a mess of blankets.

"SHUT UP AND STOP TOUCHING ME WITH YUR STUPID-ASS UMBRELLA!" I yell at her.

"Velvet Luxe! Get up! You're late for training!" Training?! Shit!

"Holy shit you didn't tell me that!" I screech, scrambling backwards on all fours until I escape the blankets and run to the clothes the provided.

In seconds I'm into the black leggings, combat boots, and black short sleeved polo thing. I actually look kind of sexy, I think while looking in the mirror. I sprint toward the elevator and get there in about 3 seconds since we're on the first floor. The guy from 11 and what's-her-face from 4 and 3 are already on. Once we get there, they pin the number 1 to my back and I'm pissed to find that Saffron is already here.

I confidently swagger over to the swords and a few people look at me, so I give them the do-you-want-to-die glare. They instantaneously back off.

Except one.

That damn Paige. Fuck her.

I gab the biggest sword I can hold just to intimidate people and request the best trainer they have. I'm going to hurt this bastard so bad it won't even be funny. Well, it will be to me. Hehe.

I think they expect that we'll be so horrible that we'll never even come close to touching them, because they have no kind of padding whatsoever. Well, I'm going to show them up.

I don't even try, but soon he's on the ground. Somehow he's able to get up, and then I go batshit crazy on this guy. Swing. Block. Parry. Bam. Repeat. Spontaneity is important. I jump a foot in the air when his sword comes slicing at my feet, and then my shirt flies up my side a bit while I swing downwards at his shoulder. Hit. I smirk. There's already a puddle of blood on the floor .

And then his sword slices my wrist. I'm forced to look at it and see my old scars, and suddenly I want to run away and die. He just brought back my addiction. And for that, I will kill him. I yell, "FUCK YOU!", being all graceful and badass. My blond curls fly everywhere as I yell and do shit.

He passes out and eventually I'm left to simply catch my breath. My chest heaves as I hiss, "You deserved it," and he's carried away on a stretcher. I notice the Gamemakers staring at me so I look in their direction and scream, " Think you could do any better? Yeah? Why don't you come down and fight me, douches!"

I go slice up some dummies halfheartedly while still shaking from my breath.

I hear something metal clatter to the ground, noticing my sword feels considerably lighter. I look down, and there lies my steel sword. I grasp the hilt wide-eyed and then lash out and yell some more while I go bloody attacking things. "What the hell is going on up in here?" asks Lucas. I don't even answer.

I continue to screw things up for five more minutes or so and then some fellow careers miraculously calm me down, because apparently it's lunch, so I go mutilate a steak before eating it..

Later I decide to bully some children ant different stations, but I only stay at weapons. At throwing knives, stands Valeria, whom I notices uses only the hand that I didn't scratch. I smirk.

Eventually the day is over and I go immediately to bed, but not before I break a small hand mirror I find in my bathroom and slice my wrist again. Good old nostalgia.

**Gabe Newman, 17 (written by Grand Coconut)**

**District 8 Male**

My mouth drops open as the girl from One goes berzerk at the swords station. She screams like a wild banshee and flings a rack of blades to the floor before throwing the hilt of her sword across the room as well. The trainers rush over to keep her from causing any more destruction, but she fights them with a completely insane look in her eyes, cursing like a pirate. After a few minutes, she is finally calmed down, but I still can't take my eyes off of her.

_What the hell just happened? _I ask myself, shocked.

Out of nowhere, I suddenly feel myself about to burst out laughing. Oh man, I know it's rude, but that girl is simply mad! Who throws a fit over a broken sword? How old are we here?

Either way, I force myself to choke down my laughter because I don't want to draw too much attention to myself. Instead, I contend myself with raising my eyebrows and looking back down at my plant game I'm playing on the touchscreen table.

So far, I've only missed three out of fifty questions. It's pretty good for a kid from District Eight. Especially since we can barely even see the sky through the factory smoke most of the time. The only stuff I've learned about plants has come from textbooks and science projects at school, but my memory is sharp, so I've remembered. If I was getting graded on this, I think I would be given an A or an A-. Three wrong is pretty good for anybody.

From the back of my mind though, I can still see the wild look on that girl's face as she threw her sword across the room and I can't help but chuckle to myself as I think about it. _Why are people so crazy here?_

I look up again to see that everyone is back to training. The steady sound of people throwing spears, starting fires, and hacking away with axes resumes like nothing ever happened at all. A small girl is sitting a few seats away from me, playing the same game as I am. I glance at _her_ screen though and see that she is getting nearly every question wrong. I watch her get another question wrong before I look away again. That girl is gonna be in some trouble in the arena if she can't even name a few berries.

A few yards down from her though, at a different station, crouches that boy from District Three I saw during the chariot rides. He looks down at an array of plants before choosing one and gives it back to the trainer. I don't know why, but I have a sudden urge to call him over here. He seemed friendly enough last night in the chariot and, man, I could use an ally or two in the arena.

He sits at the poisonous plants station, identifying plants and berries. He gets nearly half of them wrong, but for some weird reason, I still want him as an ally.

"Hey." I blurt out before I can decide whether or not to speak.

I see both him and the trainer at the station look up and meet my gaze. _Oops, oh well,_ I think. _Too late to turn back now._

"Come here." I say to the boy as I wave him over.

He smiles as he rises to his feet and I quickly pause my game. He approaches me swiftly and stands opposite of me at the table.

"Hi, what's up?" He says with a smile. His dark brown hair is swept back from his face and up close, I notice that he might have some hidden power. He doesn't seem_ too_ painfully weak from a first glance.

I shrug and mull over my words in my head. "Tell me if I'm being too direct or anything, but what do you think of alliances?" I decide to just go for it.

He shrugs simply and sits down across from me. "I mean, I'm up for one. It's just a matter of finding the right ally, that's all." He looks up at me and gains a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Why do you ask?" He smiles.

I smile as well. "I think you seem capable enough for an ally." I say simply. "And I'm going to be honest with you. I've been looking around at the people here. The boy from Twelve seems suspicious, most of the people from Seven, Nine, and Ten seem too timid or downtrodden, and it's not like I would ever become a career, but the girl from One is just blatantly insane. I would pair up with my own district partner, but she's just too naive." I say as I look her way.

He nods as he follows my gaze. "Yeah..." He says after a moment. "Yeah, I think I see what you're saying."

I raise an eyebrow. "So what do _you _say?" I ask him.

He appears to think about it for a moment. Before long though, he smiles and nods. "Well... What the hell. Let's give it a shot." He says. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

I shrug. "I could kill you in your sleep, I guess." I say casually.

He looks at me like I have three heads. "What?"

"Nothing." I say, a smile crossing my face. "I was kidding."


	20. Training Day 2

**A/N (Glossy): **I need some Training Day 3s, so if you have time send one over.

**Paisley Button, 13 (written by TheSnowyAngel)**

**District 8 Female**

Today is the 2nd day of training. I'm starting to give up the idea of choosing a weapon and relying on my running skills, but I know that will just get me killed faster. I grab the piece of wood and carving knife from my bedside and start whittling.

Vas noticed that I seem to calm down from my panic attacks more quickly if I did something that would take my mind off it like carving. I've had 2 more attacks since the train-ride. One from a bad dream I had at Chariot Night and another at breakfast the next day. I haven't told anyone about it yet, only Gabe and the Victors know about it so far. Shay knows too, but she just brushes it off as stress.

Vas knocks on the door, telling me it's breakfast. As I put the wood down, I notice something. The carving was suppose to be a cat so I've made the ears so far, but one of them is way bigger than the other, it almost looks like a boomerang…

An idea comes to mind and I quickly run out of the door, almost colliding with Vas. "Whoa, what's wrong?" he asks. I pull him aside, just in case Gabe overhears.

"You know how they teach aboriginal designs in school?" District 8's school mainly concentrates on fabric designs and angles. We don't really get to learn anything else other than basic Math and English.

"Mm hmm."

"My teacher once told me that they made boomerangs, one to scare of predators and another for hunting!" I show him my carving. "Doesn't this look like a hunting boomerang?" I ask.

"I guess, but where are you going with this?"

"I could use this as a weapon!" I whisper excitedly. "My father has given me a boomerang to play with once, I think I did pretty well-"

"Blue, I've never seen a boomerang in the arena before. How on earth could you use it?" Vas asks.

"I could sneak it in during the score rounds, it could work!"

"I don't know, seems dangerous. And these kinds of boomerangs don't come back to you because of its angle. If it does, then you might cut your hand badly!"

"Then I can train!"

"How?"

"Alone! With you! You used a trident in your games, so you're really good at throwing things!" Vas looks at me with worried eyes; he shakes his head and ruffles his hair.

"Maybe, we'll see."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I squeal.

"Okay, but we need to go before people start wondering."

Vas told me that we don't have much time, so I need to finish the carving before tonight so that we can practice. I've whittled a lot during breakfast, so it's halfway there.

I need to finish it in the Training Room; Vas says I should act casual and work at different stations. Every 30 minutes or so, I need to take out the wood and work on it, bit by bit, hopefully without anyone noticing. If they do, I'll just tell them that I had a panic attack.

I first go to the edible plants station and sort through the different kinds of mushrooms. Hayden told me that he needed to spend time with his District partner today, so I'm alone until Sans arrives.

As the instructor inspects my work, I notice the Careers eyeing me and whispering amongst themselves. I'm about to go back to a different station when I see Sans coming out of the elevator.

"Hi Sans!" As I run closer, I notice him look a little odd. "What's wrong? Why do you look so down?"

He smiles slightly at my voice and ruffles my hair. "Hey Missy, it's nothing."

"I'm serious Sans. You're usually so happy and stuff."

"Well… since you insist. My escort and partner want me to cut the alliance. I say fuck no but-" I look at him alarmed as he smacks his forehead. "Right, I forgot you're pure. Damn, why can't you be 18 or something?"

He sighs then mutters, "Bloody innocents."

I giggle at his comment and swing my arm over his shoulder. "You should just ignore them, they're just jealous."

"I'm pretty sure my rich escort and badass district partner aren't jealous of a geeky gay boy," he says.

"You're not geeky, you're cool." I tug on his arm and lead him to one of the stations. "Come on, I wanna try the knives."

The instructor gives Sans and me 3 knives to throw. He teaches us the basic techniques then leaves us to it. I raise my right hand to my ear then throw the knife across the room. It clatters to the ground and I hear a few people snicker behind me. It's the Careers.

Sans gives me that look saying to ignore them. I sigh and throw another knife. It still lands on the ground again; at least it's closer to the target this time. "Oh look at that!" I whip my head and see the District 2 boy smirking at me. I think his name is Lucas.

"Look at that guys," he says. "Little girl can't even throw a knife!" Don't listen to them.

I look back at the target and throw the last knife. It finally lands on the board. But Lucas continues to taunt me. "You'll never survive little girl. It'll be so easy to kill you…"

"Please leave me alone," I say calmly.

"Ooh! Is the little girl getting scared? You know you won't win with all those friends your making right?"

"What did you say?" I ask. I'm tired of people calling my friends weak, I get enough of that from Gabe.

"Haha! Look at that, guys! She's getting mad!"

That's it.

I don't know what came over me but I suddenly found myself pulling out grandmother's hairpin. I fling it across the room and to my surprise, it lands right above Lucas's shoulder. A few strands of his golden locks float to the ground.

The room is so silent that you could hear a pin drop. What have I done? Lucas looks at me with a pale face.

I try to walk to him calmly and pull out the hairpin from the wall behind him. Luckily it's not wedged in, so I don't need to spend a few minutes awkwardly pulling it out. Then I move to the farthest corner of the room where people won't be able to see me and pull out the wood.

I need this completed now!

**Thicket Moors, 16 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 11 Male**

Arsenia discards us as soon as we're on the training floor, pushing us out of the elevator and jamming the '11' with her thumb. Emry nods to me and wanders off, leaving me to my own devices. Seeing nothing else for me to do, I move towards the spear station.

Yesterday I worked on my survival skills. I perfected my plant knowledge, learnt how to build a neutral fire or a fire that doesn't have visible smoke, and I also practiced my stealth and agility.

Today, I decide I'll work on my sparring skills. Find a weapon I'm good at – those three-pronged fishing things from Four look deadly – and maybe try hand-to-hand combat. I'm going to use these three days of training wisely, make sure everything I do is carefully thought out and calculated. I can't afford to mess up; I can't afford to die.

I make my way towards the hand-to-hand where the boy from District 2 has wrestled the trainer to the floor and pinned him. His stupid pack of hounds – my own personal nickname for, the other tributes have named them the 'Careers' – chuckle and clap, cheering him on.

Now, I've gotten into three fights back in my District. The first time I fought, I was thirteen. Bryony had come home crying because her boyfriend had dumped her. I hounded him down and tackled him to the ground, but didn't get much further than that. Bryony's boyfriend at the time was two years older than her and one of the strongest harvesters in the division. He beat the crap out of me.

The second time was for Rosemarie – surprisingly enough – and it was because one of the boys at her school stuck gum in her hair. He was a shopkeeper's boy, a stuck-up snob no doubt. I won that fight, but I was also arrested and whipped in the square for assault and the fact that I missed a work day to go beat him up. I didn't receive my paycheck that week, but girls and boys at school kissed ass to Rosemarie.

The third time was for Jasmine, and it was recently. Right before she quit school to work, actually. She came home crying because the kids from school made fun of her patched dresses. I went to their parents houses to see if we could come to a compromise, but one of the kids dad just laughed at me. There's nothing I hate more than being laughed at. I lost control and attacked him, pinning him to the ground and eventually breaking his nose. Another whipping in the square, mostly because the guy was a peacekeeper. Jasmine felt so bad that she quit school entirely.

So I'm not going to say I'm not much of a fighter, but I am going to say I'm pretty good. I step onto the mat and the trainer – a new one, because the District 2 boy really hurt the last guy – stretches, popping his knuckles and whatnot. As soon as the bell rings, he charges for me. I side step him and elbow him in the back – hard – and he falls to ground. As soon as he's up again, however, I rush him. We fall to the ground and I maneuver my legs into what my father calls an alligator lock. It traps one's neck between another's thighs and with the proper squeeze, could easily suffocate someone. My father uses it on me when he's too tired to properly beat me. The trainer completely trapped unless he taps out. The thing about this lock, however, is that if I turn at a sharp ninety degree angle, I could snap his neck. That part, I added myself.

The trainer pounds the mat with his fist and I release him. His face is red, but his eyes are soft and full of laughter.

"That was really good," he pants. "I'm surprised, being as you're an underdog."

"Thank you," I murmur, stepping off the mat. The trainer pats my shoulder before calling for the next tribute, a skinny and stout boy from 6.

With nothing else to do, I make my way towards the fishing district weapons. I'm there with only one other person – I'm not quite sure what District the tribute is from… I didn't pay attention the reapings or the chariots – and our instructor tells us that they're called tridents.

I throw one and nearly take the head off of my trainer. It's a quick decision that tridents aren't from me. Nonetheless, there are plenty weapons left.

-x-

By the time Arsenia comes to fetch us, I am sweaty and sticky. Not to mention exhausted, hungry and thirsty – because I trained through lunch – and I am very, very, agitated.

"How did it go?" Arsenia asks, placing her key card in the elevator. I lean against the elevator wall, my legs no longer able to keep up my weight.

"I'm exhausted," Emry sighs. "But I got a lot done! I'm quite proud of myself. I cannot wait for our private sessions tomorrow. What about you Thicket?" We arrive on our floor and my feet find the way to my room, my eyes already half-lidded.

"I don't want to be bothered. I want to sleep for a year. Don't count on me coming out for dinner… actually, scratch that. Don't count on me coming out for anything." My muscles are screaming as I force them to carry me to my room, not bothering to heed Arsenia's calls for me to return. As soon as my body hits the bed, I begin to get drowsy.

And I float into sweet unconsciousness, allowing myself to dream of Jasmine in pretty ball gowns and Amaryllis with all the art supplies she wants.

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

When we enter the training area for the second day, my movements are sure and bold as I head straight for the spears. While the majority of the other Tributes are of little threat, I am concerned with the height and strength of my fellow careers. I grew up with the knives, so it was hard to let them go when picking a weapon, but I am at a severe disadvantage with my short little knives. I'd easily have to get within arm's reach to attack them, putting me in far too much danger.

"What did I tell you, Val? You should have picked something with a little better range, or the others will squish you like a bug." My friend Pliny's voice mocks me as I pick up a spear. She had ragged on me for my weapon's choice for years, even though half the time I was able to work my way through her defense, but fifty percent was not a good enough probability for the Games. I wanted an increase.

The more control I have, the easier the games will be, and the faster I will get home. I frown as I heft the spear. They seem thicker than the ones back home and I don't care much for the metal shaft; I can already feel my grip slipping and my hands aren't even sweaty.

I throw the spear quickly. My enemy isn't going to wait for me to set my feet, so I work on reflex and reaction time. The spear hits the waistline and I make a noise of disgust. Debilitating, sure, but certainly not fatal. I would have to spend most of my time here, but I made a mental note to check out poison plants. I'd already seen a handful of careers die from carelessly eating poisoned fruit and I vowed I would not be one of them.

Just as I get ready to throw the next spear, I hear a tutting, "No, no, you're not holding it right. Your body is completely out of line and those feet are a disgrace."

I raise my eyebrows s I look at a Capital trainer walk over to me at a clipped pace. His pale eyes are rather startling in his white face and I wonder where he got the idea that he would look good with such pale skin, made paler by his sleek blue hair.

He doesn't even ask permission before he's straitening my body out and I don't hesitate to slap his hands away.

"I know how to stand!"

"Then do it!"

"Not every stance can be perfect while making a split second decision," I argued.

"You'll be in more danger if you can't even throw straight."

He does however fix my grip on the spear so that it feels more comfortable in my hands and my next throw lands just a shade below the heart. I hesitate to thank him, but a thought strikes me and I do my best to put a humble smile on.

"Thank you for your instruction. Can you help me with anything else?"

I glance around the room very quickly to take stock of everyone. Saffron is talking to that really weird boy, Cultzeal? I can't remember. Velvet's waling at a dummy with a broken sword. It struck me as disturbing that I was no longer shocked by her voraciousness. I warned myself not to become too comfortable with her psychotic behavior, lest my attention lapse at a critical moment. Lucas was acting the hot shot, being in a sword fight with a trainer, but instead of a straight fight he was doing all these fancy moves and twirls. I saw half a dozen openings alone to get through his defenses, but the trainer seemed awestruck at having such an athletic student. I didn't pay much attention to the rest of the poor Tributes. They were practically living corpses and the thoughts of their deaths made me nauseous.

I shook myself of the thought and continued with my plan. To still be receiving instruction this far into my career education will make the careers look at me as the weakest link. Let them. They'll be even more surprised when I stab them all in the back.

**Milo Thetras, 14 (written by Starry Infinities)**

**District 5 Male**

I am not hungry, I think, looking down at the sandwich on the tray before me. The amount of food they give us in the Capitol is unimaginable, and as a boy from the slums of District Five, I never ate much to begin with.

I hear a noise, looking up to see Arlette and some ally she seems to have found, presumably the girl she mentioned last night, trying to persuade me to ally with them.

"Arlette?" I question, raising my eyebrows as I look at my district partner.

"I think you should ally with us," she replies, speaking surprisingly strongly compared to usual, being shy and helpless.

"I'm Maylin, from District Four. Arlette has told me you are Milo, and speaks well of you," the girl tells me. She was much older than either Arlette or I, possibly the eldest tribute of the games.

"Are you a career?" I find myself asking, careers are never to be trusted, and if a career was attempting to ally with me, there was no way I would accept.

"Well, I'm from career district, I know a bit about weapons, however, I certainly wouldn't regard myself as a career. I'm more of a family girl, I know how to cook, I'm loyal and have other similar qualities. Personally, I know I'm not the sort of backstabbing ally. If I ever hurt those who trust me, I wouldn't be able to live with myself, to go back to Minna," Maylin explains, giving me a longer answer than I expect, after all, her life story was not what I had been prepared to hear.

"You speak well, but I don't trust people easily. You have to know that and not take it personally, I only have two people I trust, both of which are living back in District Five," I tell them, accepting that this alliance can potentially be one of the possible ways I can get home to the only place I am happy, that little shack I share with Fearon.

"I'm assuming you are taking up on our offer then?" Arlette asks, a pleading look in her eyes.

I bite my lip. Am I prepared to work with other people, it's never been my thing?

"Lope said it would be a good idea," she adds, staring at me, hoping for an answer.

"That's more of a reason for me not to accept," I state, mumbling slightly, but loud enough for Arlette and Maylin to hear. Lope was not my ideal mentor to say the least.

"Please, Milo?" Maylin speaks strongly, yet still appears to be begging.

Begging.

Begging me to join. If they want me as an ally so badly, why wouldn't I accept? I will have authority, I could even try to lead if the two of them want me so badly.

"Yes, that would work," I tell them, a smile on my face. This smile isn't so much of happiness as acceptation, realising I have even more chance of getting back, which I had to do anyway. Failure is not an option.

"That's great!" Arlette excitedly exclaims, as of she didn't expect me to join. I smile back at her, comforting my new ally. If I want her to trust me, she has to like me. To do this I have to step out of my comfort zone and show I am strong and try to act like I know what I am doing. It's how I have to play the games.

"Anyway, we'd better get training, I suggest we try climbing, and them maybe spears and tridents. Climbing can prepare us, warm us up, because in the games we will have to hide and possibly clim away from attacks, but go straight into a fight. This is why I think spears and tridents might he our best bet, as Maylin probably has experience in such weaponry, and it is our best chance to survive," I tell them. I'm not overly sure as to what I am talking about, but I want to show my authority, so instantly taking charge may be the best plan.

Even if I'm not our leader in the games, I have proven I will pull my weight and gain Maylin and Arlette's trust. An alliance wouldn't work very well without that.

"That sounds like a good plan, and admittedly, my weapon experience is limited, but being from a district which uses spears and tridents often, I agree that those weapons are ideal. They are really our only chance," Maylin agrees, nodding. I can tell I already have gained part of her trust.

"I think it is good that we have the same thoughts on such things, shows how well our alliance will work on the arena," I say, trying to sound as if I genuinely mean what I say. it's difficult.

Every tribute needs to know that turning their back on an ally is always an option, just like death for one is. I just needed to make the right choice, even if it wasn't morally what I usually would.

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

I run a lazy finger across all the blades and frown. Carrying one of them, I wince just briefly and adjusted my grip before I swing it in an arc. _No, this wasn't made for me_. I return it to its spot and snatched a sleek sword and a smirk stretches its way across my face. This one was made more compatible for me. Light, long and thin and a very beautifully made

"Stay your hand," a firm command and I glance into a pair of deceiving sky blue eyes, "Lest you foul your strike."

This boy is a wolf, a predator. My lips curl into a softer, colder smile as my blood begin to rush in my ears. Another predator in the war. _Interesting._

"May I be of assistance?" I return the beautiful rapier on the stand. Such tragic beauty; made to kill. I smile gently when his eyes flicker to meet mine, and a flash of shock pass those blue eyes. "Is something the matter? You seem to have faltered." I cannot help but ask. This Adonis boy, a boy taught and trained to be a beast and a predator, faltering in my presence. What greater testament of my presence do I need?

He breathes deeply and I feel my lips stretch even more. _He's afraid. _"You were about to do injury to yourself," he says stiffly and I chuckle inwardly. Such feeble attempts at recomposure but I do have to admit that he is unlike the false predator from 11. This is a real predator and I must admit, it does make my blood sing. A battle between predators is not one to take lightly. Not ever.

"This is no way to handle a sword." I blink slowly as I look at him bored. I think I have quite enough of seizing and measuring him. He reminds me of that rabbit from the day earlier; _too willing_ to help. The difference however, this is a predator.

He picks up the rapier from the stand, "here, hold it like this," he instructs, grasping it by the straight handle, his thumb resting against the guard. I take the beautiful deadly treasure off its stand and curl my fingers around its handle. The sudden weight that falls on my fingers nearly startled me. I wince just briefly as I force my hand to be accustomed to the weight._Such deadly angels never do come easy_.

"You have my gratitude. You are?"

"Saffron, of House Edinburgh," he bows like those cultured gentlemen. _As if it matters how cultured you are when your time is winding down quickly._

"Hayden of the Cultzealots," I mock his accent and his posture. My lips curl into those cold smiles. Honestly, does this boy think I would falter in the face of such kindness? How ludicrous. I shake my head lightly. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

A few gentle waves, I tilt my head a little and rest the tip of the rapier on the ground as I assess the predator in front of me. "What that could you possibly garner from helping me?" I sneer as I continue maintaining my eye contact with Adonis' incarnate.

_A predator. Be wary, be aware._

"Why would I not help someone in need?" he retorts coolly.

"Would you help quicken your own death?"

"I would do what is right." How honorable. How _naive._ He smiles somberly, "You do not understand, one does not walk the road to victory by fixing the fight before it begins." I shake my head mirthlessly._ I do not understand_? Perhaps, he does not even know why I rejoice in being in the Arena. No one does anyway. No one at all.

_I stand alone. I am alone._

I flex my wrist again as I attempt once again to draw arcs with the deadly beauty, "Have you been fencing as a child?"

He nods, "Yes, all my life, I have studied the way of the sword." I blink and frown just barely at him. Of course, I am right. This whelp was trained and made into a predator; but can he compete against a true born predator? You can teach a man to fight and kill, but without weapons can he truly match the might of a natural beasts?

"Have you ever killed anyone in cold blood?" I am intrigued. I need to know just how far the gap. He stares at me incredulously and denies. How pitiful. How disappointing. A trained predator who has never killed. Such a waste. I smile sardonically as I finally acknowledge the gap between me and a trained predator. They have the skill and ability, along with the motivation to kill but I have the instinct, the skills and the ruthlessness to kill.

After all, I am nothing more than a sinner and a murderer to my own beloved mother.

"And you?" he challenges. I smile gently and cruelly. Do I tell the truth or weave the truth between the lies that I shall concoct? Without meaning to, my free hand brushes against my torso, feeling the scars of the past stitched there long ago. I close my eyes briefly as my memories brought me to the winter two years ago.

_I'm sorry. Forgive me, forget me not._

She was gasping, she was crying. A boy stood in the room in silence, his hands shook and his fingers curled and uncurled. The boy wanted to do something, _he needed to do something_. She continued to writhe in between the sheets and his sorrowful eyes flickered between the bedstand, the knife and the woman. _I'm sorry; forgive me. _

The boy snatched the knife, slid into bed and held the woman carefully and tenderly in his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder and one of his arms curled protectively around her torso. _I'm sorry, mother dearest. I cannot see you suffer anymore_. The boy, with tears streaming the sides of his face and a face of utter defeat and helplessness, slit her throat. As her blood spilled across the bedsheets, the boy simply held her tighter. How ironic and tragic it was; he was her murderer and yet he was holding her so dearly as if he could somehow keep her soul with him.

As she slowly departed the world, his heart began its endless whimpering and shattering. The moment she lied lifeless in his arms, a long mournful howl echoed in the room and the tears continued streaming endlessly.

_Forgive me, forget me not._

I reopen my eyes and smile cruelly. "_Yes, yes I have killed_," I whisper as I turn away and leave the boy behind me.


	21. Training Day 3

**A/N (Glossy): **Another short chapter. It looks like we will be having a very large bloodbath, and I am sad to say that Exella has dropped out.

**Raphael Hume, 17 (written by Elim9)  
>District 10 Male<strong>

They've ignored me so far.

I thought that was what I wanted. To be ignored. Overlooked. I thought I was prepared for that. After all, I've been avoided back in District Ten for years. Avoided by my classmates. By people on the streets. By people who used to be my friends.

But being avoided and being ignored are two very different things.

At least back in District Ten, I was the boy with the scars. The boy who no one talked to because they were afraid. Here, I don't even have that. I'm not even someone worth avoiding. I'm no one.

I'm a tribute in the Hunger Games. Nothing more.

So, from my table in the corner of the room, I focus on the one thing that's been a comfort to me here: the food. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, and sometimes in between, I've been stuffing my face. Because I can. Because it's the only comfort left to me. And even though my stomach aches and feels like it's ready to burst, I can't stop. Because at least this way I'm doing _something_. I can feel _something_.

Something that lets me know I'm still alive.

Lunch today is as grand as the last two days: a delicious soup with more flavors than I could name, a roast bird that is probably some relative of a chicken or duck. In any case, it's delicious. And then the desserts. I know I shouldn't fill myself with sweets, but I can't help it.

Suddenly, without any sort of warning, my stomach lurches. I clap a hand over my mouth in an effort to contain what I know is coming, but it does no good. Before I know what's happening, I'm covered in my own vomit. But my stomach doesn't stop there. Soon, I'm lying on the ground, retching up what feels like everything I've eaten in the past few days.

Hands reach down to grab me. I can make out a uniform. Two gruff faces, ready to drag me off to clean me up. They pull me roughly to my feet, but I can barely stand. Everything seems to be spinning. One of them gives me a tug. "Let's move, Ten."

"Leave him alone!"

A small voice drags me back to what's happening. The voice belongs to one of the younger girls. Thirteen at the most, but completely undaunted by the situation.

To my surprise, the men simply shrug and let me drop to the floor. Probably glad they don't have to deal with me. Just like everyone else.

Everyone except the girl in front of me. Gently, she helps me sit up, then steadies me when I try to stand. She rubs a bit of the vomit out of my shirt with a napkin, and, when that fails, helps me over to the corner where they keep the extra training outfits.

I don't even think. I just pull off my shirt as quickly as possible and replace it with another, glad to be in something clean and dry. Only when the girl gasps a little do I realize she must have seen the scars on my back.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's not your fault." I collapse into a seat at a table nearby, too weary to stand, but certainly not about to eat anything more.

The girl slides into a seat across from me, completely undeterred. "I'm Paisley. What's your name?"

"Raphael," I answer cautiously. Why is she so interested? Why does she care? "Why did you help me?"

She simply shrugs, as if helping someone who's about to become competition in a fight to the death were the most natural thing in the world. "You looked like you needed it."

I can't exactly argue with that. "Thank you," I say at last, not sure what else she's expecting or why she hasn't left yet.

"You're welcome." Still, she doesn't leave. "I was wondering … Would you like to be allies?"

_Allies?_

She wants _me_ as an ally?

Why would anyone want _me_ as an ally?

It's the last day of training. I had assumed I would be going into the Games alone. That no one would want to ally with someone like me. And yet here she is, offering me a place in her alliance.

Because it's not just her. I've seen her with a few others. The boy from Six. The boy from Twelve. Maybe not the most threatening tributes in the Games, but still far, far above my league.

I'd have to be an idiot to say no.

**Saffron Edinburgh, 17 (written by Lady Fluorspar)**

**District 1 Male**

On the day of our last breakfast together, our mentors ask us what we plan to show the game makers for our private sessions.

"Fuck shit up, I guess" Velvet shrugs, attacking a grapefruit with savage ferocity

"Lovely" Jade grimaces and takes a dainty bite of her spinach and tomato omelette

"What about you Saffron?"

I take a sip of orange juice and mull it over.

"Perhaps I will show them my swordsmanship, will that be satisfactory?"

"Yeah, but try to make it interesting," Prometheus says through a mouthful of sausage

"If let then know you can put on a good show they'll let you live longer in the arena."

"Really?" Velvet perked up

"Yeah, don't forget, the Hunger Games is entertainment first, a fight to the death second. That's something District 2 and 4 obviously aren't aware of, something we can use as an advantage against the other Careers."

"Its true, oh and just to let you know they start calling you up after lunch so you guys only have half a day of training today." Jade adds

"Actually..." I carefully fold my napkin and place it gently on the table while keeping my eyes lowered

"May I spend the day outside, in the Capitol?" I ask, keeping my eyes lowered respectfully

"Of course not," Jade snorts and tosses her long blonde hair over her shoulder "is that even allowed Prom?"

He frowns "Actually yeah, he can leave the tower as long as he wears a tracker and has an escort with him." He turns to the bathroom,

"HEY MESSALINA!" He hollars "I GOT A HOT DATE FOR YOU!"  
>"WHO IS IT?!" She calls back<p>

"SAFFRON"

"REALLY?!"

"YEAH!"

"TELL HIM HE'S A BIT TOO YOUNG FOR ME"

Prometheus didn't stop laughing until she came out of the bathroom.

"OK, yeah, he just needs an escort to help him do a little sightseeing and show him around. Are you up for it?" He asks, his bright blue eyes twinkling with mirth

"Of course I am, I'll even try to wrangle some sponsors while we're out." She beams

"Great, knew we could count on you" he grins and turns to me

"Saffron go ahead and enjoy yourself, but be back by 1 o'clock for your private session, if you're late its an automatic zero"

"I swear on my life, I will not forget." I said, a triumphant smile playing on my lips

* * *

><p>Crowded. Bright. Loud.<p>

I had seen pictures of Capitol streets in my textbooks but I hadn't imagined anything like this. Such vast streets thronging with people, how can one seek out a single person in a monumental city such as this?

As if reading my mind, Messalina links her arm through mine tightly.

"Is there any particular place you want to see?" she asks

"No, no place in particular, but may we visit somewhere that receives heavy foot traffic?"

"Oooh you want to find sponsors then? Alright, Central Park we go!"

She flags down a taxi driven by a heavyset man around 40 years old with no less than three cigarettes hanging out of his mouth.

"Where to lady?" He asks gruffly. To my surprise, his speech lacks the affected Capitol accent Messalina and most of the escorts possess.

"Central Park"

He turns around and stares at her in disbelief

"You kidding me? It's a three minute walk! Get the hell out and walk ya lazy skank!" I wonder if he's simply a worker from District Six. His vulgarity suggests he is definitely not from the Capitol, at least not born and raised.

Messalina glances at me uncomfortably. "I guess he's right, come on Saffron"

"No" I said firmly

"I beg your pardon, but that is no way to address a lady. I pray you make an apology, or come to regret it." I said to the man with deadly coolness, folding my arms across my chest

He slowly turns to me and studies me closely. Then, without saying a word he pushes a button on his dashboard.

The next thing I know, me and Messalina are sprawled on the ground while he he peels away.

"Well," she sighs, dusting herself off "Central Park is this way."

We sit down at a wooden picnic table, not unlike the ones back home in District One. The park itself was similar, with exotic flowers and gold fountains imported from One, as well as a colossal television screen imported from Three. The only difference was the sheer amount of people walking through and lounging about during a weekday. Back in One, almost everybody had work, school, or training, even during Games month but in the Capitol this whole month is a holiday.

I quickly glance at my escort who is rapidly thumbing her handheld phone. Suddenly, a horde of Capitolites swarm to our table and begin crowding around us.

"Oh he's just gorgeous!"

"I liked District Two better."

"So strong and healthy looking!"

"Hmm he looked more impressive on screen."

"Wow a real district person!"

So many people, but the one I'm looking for is not here. My heart sinks in disappointment

_Corina, where are you? I had promised I would try to find you..._

"Everybody, this is Saffron, District One. He's one to watch out for, mark my words." Messalina calls, snapping me back to the present

"Remember, sponsorship starts tomorrow. Be sure to call Prometheus Van Nifterick or Jade Carson to support him!"

We spend a couple of hours chatting with potential sponsors and fending off insults from those who support other Districts before deciding to get lunch.

Messalina chooses what she calls a "quaint little cafe" which turns out to be larger than restaurants in One, with a menu the size of a dictionary.

"Is there something wrong with your food?" she asks after a while

"Not at all. It is delectable, to be sure." I reply, trying to smile

"But you don't seem to be eating very much." she points out

"Is it not better to eat lightly when I have my private training session right after?"

"Ah that's right. Let's see, according to my watch you still have over an hour." Suddenly, she frowns

"Wait a second, on my handheld it says you have..."

"Good golly miss molly!" She yelps

"My watch didn't detect that I was in the Capitol time zone! You actually have ten minutes to get back to the Tower!"  
>We both jump to our feet with a start and make a mad dash to the exit. Before I reach the door a large man yanks me back by the collar.<p>

"Excuse me sir, but you didn't pay" he growls

"Oh, I'll handle the bill, Saffron run!" Messalina moans, reaching into her purse

The man releases me and I race out the door, luckily the cafe was just a short distance from the Tower.

I pour on the speed, narrowly getting hit by a car, until finally...

There it is!

I run into the Tower and down the stairs, the digital clock above the gymnasium reading 12:59.

I burst through the doors, with less than a minute to spare.

"Saffron, from House Edinburgh, District One at your service" I pan.


	22. Private Training Sessions

**A/N (Glossy): **Sorry about the format fail.

**Saffron Edinburgh, 17 (written by Lady Fluorspar)**

**District 1 Male**

Head Gamemaker Damus nods "You may begin"

I take a minute to catch my breath,

"I would like to challenge an attendant to a duel." I gasp

One of the attendants steps forward. "I think I'll take on pretty boy" he sneers, "If he can handle it."

I blanch at the sight of my opponent. The top of his shiny head is bald but his long auburn beard is intricately braided, and a long scar runs across his left eye like a lightning bolt, giving him the appearance of one of the Vikings that I've seen in storybooks. As I crane my head to look him in the eye, I estimate him to be about 6'9, a veritable giant.

"Name your duel" I said as calmly as I could manage

He nods and chooses two swords from the wall, throwing one of them to me.

I catch it easily, and study the sword my opponent has chosen. It's an estoc, a two-handed sword with a cruciform hilt, the edges are dull but it taper to a sharp, deadly point.

"To first blood" The Viking growls

We get into position and begin circling one another.

The Viking strikes first, and he's strong, very strong. I only get my sword up in time to block, but the force of his blow knocks my sword right out of my hands and slams into my neck. I touch my neck gingerly. No blood, but I can feel a nasty bruise blooming under my fingers. Out of the corner of my eye I can see the Gamemakers shake their heads grimly as they scribble down notes.

"Well come on, pick it up" The Viking gestures towards my sword that a couple feet behind me

It doesn't look good, how can I be entertaining when I can not best my opponent?

"We don't have all day" he snarls

I pick up my sword from the ground and re-assess the situation. In a game of sheer strength I would lose every time, brute force was never my forte. I bite my lip and look him up and down, trying to find a weak point I could exploit, something I can do to tip the scales in my favour.

Suddenly, I see it.

I step forward, re-engaging the fight. As I expected, he aims for my face and chest so I get down low, skimming the point of my sword surreptitiously against his pants. When I'm ready, I somersault backwards, making the Viking lunge forward. As he does so, his pants burst apart into ribbons, revealing his hot pink furry underpants. I smirk. The rest of the attendants burst into laughter, and I don't have to look at the Gamemakers to know that they're amused as well.

The Viking blushes, clearly embarrassed, and tries to cover himself with his hands, leaving his defenses wide open.

I disarm him with a swift kick, causing his sword to fly into the air. He looks up instinctively and steps back to grab his sword, but I knock his feet from right under him, causing him to fall flat on his back. Deftly, I catch his sword with my other hand and plunge the two swords into the floor on either side of his neck so they form an X, essentially trapping the Viking.

"Do you yield?" I ask softly

"No I don't flipping yield!" He growls, his face as red as his beard. He tries to pull the swords out of the floor but they don't budge.

The other attendants are literally rolling on the floor howling with laughter by now, the image of the Viking flopping around on the floor with his underpants in full view is clearly too much for them to handle.

"He yields, he yields, you're dismissed" Head Gamemaker Damus chuckles

"I thank you for your consideration" I say, bowing once more

I walk out of the room with a triumphant smile, it was close, too close for my taste, but as always I do not fail.


	23. Score Announcements

**A/N (Glossy): **We only have a few more chapters before the Games start so check my profile for a new form for the Games (strategy and whatnot.) There are only a few chapters left so if you haven't gotten two in yet make sure you do.

**Maylin Coasta, 18 (written by EBunnyLove)**

**District 4 Female**

That night I sit with the rest of the team, besides Cray, to watch the revealing of our scores. I bite my lip nervously. I wonder how good my two young allies did. I wonder idly about myself before thinking about Cray and the other Careers. How high would their scores be? The first face to pop up is, of course, Saffron, the boy from District 1. He receives a 9. His partner Velvet gets a 3. The boy from 8 receives an 8 and the girl gets a 9. The scores for District 3 are typical and low. I feel sweat collect on my hands as Cray's face shows up knowing that I'm next. Cray receives an 8, which is unsurprising. I receive a 7. I am pleased and happy I still receive a respectable score. I want to relax but I know that Milo and Arlette are next.  
>If was worried for how long we will last in the Games as a group I am now utterly concerned once I see my allies scores. Milo receives a 2 and Arlette is given a 1. I am tempted to go to their floor and ask them what happened.<p>

I am worried enough that I don't catch the majority of the rest of the scores. I manage to calm enough to take note that the last two tributes receive a 4 and 8 respectfully. I don't stay up to much longer. The small bit of normalcy left in me propels me to officially congratulate Cray before heading to my room. I change and slide into my bed and lay awake staring at the ceiling. Milo and Arlette have just put themselves high on everyone who cares kill lists. I can only hope I can keep them alive.

I can only hope.

**Cray Stone, 18 (written by Ripple 237 and edited by Lady Fluorspar)**

**District 4 Male**

The past few days have been a blur. My life has gone to pieces. I don't know why that surprises me since I was reaped into the Hunger Games, a violent death match. My stupid stylist isn't helping things. What was he thinking making me a pink seahorse? No sponsors with that costume. To make things worse, Maylin hates me now for allying with the Careers. I'm doing it to protect her and the weaker tributes. Leading the careers isn't good either. If I don't get a good score, my cover will be jeopardized. Right now I'm sitting with the Careers waiting for the Training Score Announcements, which is probably not a good way to earn Maylin's trust back. We're actually all in the District One apartment since it's the biggest and fanciest one enjoying a 10-foot tall chocolate cake. Velvet is stabbing at a pillow, Saffron is lounging on a chair and trying to flirt with Valeria, who is NOT having it.

"Hey Lucas, how do you think you did?" I asked

"I'm obviously going to get the highest score" he says puffing up his chest

"Probably the first 12 in history"

"Dream on little boy," Velvet sneers

"Hey! I'm not little!" he snarls, even though he's the youngest out of all of us

"You're lucky we aren't allowed to fight before the games, cause I could kick your ass psycho bitch!"

"You wanna throw down?" Velvet sneers, rolling up her sleeves

"Cause no one's watching now, why don't we settle this right here right now?"

""All right, I'm down" Lucas growls, jumping to his feet

I sigh and position myself between them

"Come on you guys, knock it off. You don't wanna enter the arena injured do you?"

They both glare at me, and for a second I think they might team up and thrash me

"Fine" they mutter and sit back down. Phew. Crisis averted

"Ah, it begins." Saffron says. The scores come on screen, a simple headshot they took during the first day of training with a score of 1 to 12 below our faces,

Saffron's is first, and he got a 9 .

"What did you do? Make out with the Gamemakers or something?" Lucas mocks

Saffron's hand flies to the hickey on his neck but he doesn't say anything.

Next is Velvet, who gets a 3.

We don't find out any scores after that because she shoves the coffee table into the TV, smashing the screen into a billion tiny pieces.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!" She screams, and starts destroying the apartment.

"Velvet, calm down!" Valeria yells

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM THE FUCK DOWN," She screeches, and rips the faucet off the sink in the kitchenette, causing water to gush out onto the floor.

"Try to hold her down, I'll call the Peacekeepers" I yell, and run to the phone

Saffron and Valeria double team her and Lucas, that coward, runs away

I dial 444, the emergency number.

"We're sorry but the number you have dialed does not exist, please try again"

Suddenly, I hear the crash of breaking glass, Velvet actually pushed Valeria out the window! Luckily, we're on the ground floor so she's fine, though unconscious.

Wait, of course, this isn't District 4, it's the Capitol! I dial 000

"We're sorry but the number you have dialed does not exist, please try again"

I hear a dull thud and Saffron's groan of pain.

Apparently he slipped on the rapidly expanding pool of water on the ground. He grabs the edge of the counter and tries to get back up but Velvet picks up a whole watermelon from the fruit bowl and brings it down on his head. Uh oh, he's down for the count too.

I look look around panic, there has to be a phone book somewhere! Wait, there it is! Under the remains of the coffee table!

I pick it up and flip to the back of the book, but it's covered with chocolate and I can't make out what it says.

I sigh in defeat.

Right now Velvet is swinging on the chandelier flinging handfuls of cake everywhere. She looks so much like a poop-flinging monkey I can't help but laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

Suddenly, I hear a buzz from the door and Velvet's mentor walks in.

"Oh my god."

I try to look at in from her eyes,

All we see of Valeria is her bloody leg hanging from the windowsill, Saffron is on the ground with a watermelon over his head, Velvet is screeching obscenities and swinging from the chandelier, and I'm here laughing like a lunatic. But that's not what she notices.

"There's shit everywhere!" she gasps

"There's shit on the walls! There's shit on the floor! There's shit on the ceiling!"

"No, no it's just cake!" I say, trying to reassure her.

To prove it, I pick some off the walls and start licking it.

"Oh my god you're eating shit!" she sobs

"No, no it's cake, seriously, try it!"

She recoils in horror, and I realize how crazy I must look. Poor girl, she's only 16.

"I can't deal with this" she sniffs

"I'm calling the Peacekeepers."

She pulls out her handheld phone and dials 911.

Ah, so that's what the emergency number is here.

* * *

><p>A couple hours later, we relocate to the District 2 apartment to watch the re-runs of the scores. Velvet is bound in a straitjacket, Valeria's leg is bandaged, and Saffron is holding a bag of ice over his head.<p>

Lucas glances at us guiltily,

"I was uh, just going to the bathroom. You guys were able to handle the situation without me right?"

Me and Valeria give him the finger. Saffron looks like he wants to join in but is too polite to.

"Pay attention tributes, it's starting" says the District 2 mentor

We watch as Saffron gets a 9 and Velvet gets a 3.

Then, it's Lucas who gets an 8.

"What?! That's not fair! They must be blind or something!" He rages.

"You should have gotten 0" I mutter

Valeria gets a 9.

"Decent," she says calmly, but a look of irritation flickers across her face

District Three gets a 5 for the male and a 4 female.

Next up is me….

And I got an 8!

Maylin gets a 7, it might have been higher if she joined us…

The rest of the tributes average around a 5, the only other high scorers I see are the girl from 10 who got an 8 and the boy from 12 who also got a 8. Those are ones we have to watch out for.

"I think this is going to be a very interesting Games." I murmur.

The Scores:

Saffron- 9  
>Velvet- 3<br>Lucas- 8  
>Valeria- 9<br>Casker- 5  
>Fleur- 4<br>Cray- 8  
>Maylin-7<br>Milo- 2  
>Arlette- 1<br>Sans- 5  
>Sabrina- 4<br>Fords- 4  
>Blair- 2<br>Gabe- 6  
>Blue- 3<br>Ace- 5  
>Talia- 4<br>Raphael- 3  
>Paige- 8<br>Thicket- 5  
>Emry- 4<br>Hayden- 8  
>Exella- 4<p> 


	24. Interview Preparation

**A/N (Glossy): **So close. Please check the Games form and make sure to put a REALISTIC 40 time. Thanks.

**Saffron Edinburgh, 17 (written by Lady Fluorspar)**

**District 1 Male**

I first spend a couple of hours with Messalina, going over posture, poise and comportment, and having a background in drama and performance, I exceed every expectation. I saunter in naturally, exactly three and a half steps from the entrance of the room to the X she marked on the floor with tape in a single try, I do not flinch or squint when she flashes the blinding white lights at my face, and most importantly, I can convey joy, scorn, sorrow, the entire spectrum of emotions with just a single expression.

"Wonderful, wonderful!" she claps

"We're done here, in record time too! Take a short break, I'm going to the salon but I'll make sure to be back in time to work with your partner." She said as she picked up her pocketbook and sped off.

I glanced at the clock. Two hours by myself. I decided to wait outside the office where Velvet was working with our mentors. I stared at the mirrored black door, so beautiful, trimmed with silver leaves and a gold motif. I touched the wood gently. It was ebony wood, imported from my own district. I close my eyes and inhale the familiar musky scent. It was the same scent as the waiting room in the Justice building when I had said my goodbyes.

The first dozen visitors were exactly who I expected. My parents gushing that they were so proud of me, my younger sister, bending in a stiff curtsey asking me if I really had to go (I must, it was my duty), scores of my female admirers wishing me luck and sniffling about how much they would miss me, and my instructors from the academy with some last minute advice.

I suppose my final visitor was completely expected as well. I could tell who it was before he opened the door from the soft clicks and whirrs of his bionic legs.  
>It was my uncle.<br>He was dressed in his old combat uniform, his shining Medal of Valor pinned on his chest. It read "For Exemplary Heroism in Defense of the Capitol" in print so large I could easily see it from where I was sitting.

"Hey kid" he said gruffly

"Hello uncle"

"You know why I'm here don'tcha? Not just to say goodbye but…." He pulled out his locket and hung it around my neck.

"It's been over 20 years, I don't know if she even survived the war, damn rebels, and she probably married to some other schmuck or somethin' but I just need her to know..." He took out a crumpled letter from his pocket and stuffed it into my hands.

"Give this to an Avox or somethin' alright? They should know her address. And be sure to wear that locket on camera, let-let her know I still care." He sniffed, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose loudly

"You probably think your uncle's a real jackass huh? You're the one going to fight to the death and here I am cryin' over some chick who's probably forgotten all about me" He started to sob in earnest.

"You know what forget about it!" He suddenly burst out. He grabbed the letter back and tore it to shreds

"You gotta focus on killing 23 other people, not playin' cupid for some stupid old geezer!" He lunged for the locket but I pulled it away

I shook my head and stuffed the locket into my shirt. I had made up my mind.  
>"Uncle," I said with a sly smile<p>

"Have you ever known me not to be on the side of romance?"

Unexpectedly, the door bursts open, smashing into my face. Stars begin to dance in front of my eyes and I stumble backwards.

"Oops, didn't see you there Saffron." Velvet snickered

"No, the fault is mine." I mumbled, clutching my head.

"How did your session with Messalina go?"she asked

"My session with Jade and Prometheus went great!" she continued without waiting for a response

"I can tell they're obviously going to help me more than you once the game starts, they absolutely loved me!" she flashed me a smug smile and flounced off.

I staggered into the office and took a seat in front of our mentors where Jade was hyperventilating rapidly into a paper bag while Prometheus was attempting to simultaneously drink four glasses of wine.

"Yikes Saffron, what happened? It looks like you were hit by a truck" Prometheus said as he put down his wineglasses

"It is merely a superficial wound, there is no need for concern" I mumbled

"Yeah but you can't go to the interviews looking like that, here" he rummaged through a chest of drawers and pulled out a jar of pale yellow cream and a hand mirror.

I opened the jar of cream and slowly dabbed some over my eye. To my astonishment the angry dark blue colour faded and returned to my usual skin tone right before my eyes. I did the same to the wound on my neck and watched as the bruise was simply erased.

"Capitol technology sure is amazing huh?" Jade said, recovering from her panic attack.

"They have all sorts of cool stuff, creams that mend cuts instantly, injections that nullify lethal poison, if you get injured in the arena we'll try to send you something."

"But that, of course depends on how much sponsorship you have." Prometheus interrupted

"Which brings us to why you're here. Interviews are the most important thing in terms of sponsorship. In just three minutes, you have to make the potential sponsors remember you and want to spend their money on you." He studied me intently.

"Velvet's going with the lethal femme fatale angle,"

"More like psycho-maniac" Jade muttered

"so you need to go the opposite direction if you don't want to be overshadowed" he continued

"We figured that after Velvet, the audience would want to see someone who's actually, you know, likeable."

I nod. Likeable, since when have I ever been anything but?

"You've got that whole hopeless romantic thing going on, and well, that's actually perfect. Basically you can just be yourself. Unlike Prometheus here who had to pretend he wasn't a complete egotistical megalomaniac." Jade said

"I am not!" He said indignantly and gave his cousin a playful shove

"Anyway, Felix is a master at reading body language and cues. If there's something you want to talk about, Felix will lead the conversation to where you want it to go. Is there any specific topic you want him to bring up?" Jade asked  
>My heart starts to race, like a hummingbird hovering over a blossom in spring. I try to calm my trembling hands. This is better than I dared hope. The opportunity will be right there in front of me.<p>

"No no and no." Prometheus said, slamming his fists on the desk

"You can not do that on national television!"

"Prom, listen to him, it is a good plan." Jade said gently

"Yeah, he's either going to end up with all the sponsors or it's gonna blow up in his face." He snaps

"As your mentor I can't let you take that risk!"

"As your tribute I respect your wishes but will honor the choices of my heart" I reply calmly

"But, but, but!" he sputters, turning red

"Come on, we'll ask Messalina, she'll know how the Capitol will react to it." Jade said walking to the door

"Messalina's barely representative of the whole Capitol." He protested, crossing his arms in front of his chest  
>Jade explained my plan to her, and Messalina suddenly became very quiet.<p>

"It's risky for sure, but as a Capitolite, I want him to do it. And you can bet your buttons I'm not the one. I say Saffron should go through with it." She whispered

We all turn to Prometheus.

"Fine" he huffs

"Don't say I didn't warn you."

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

I sit quietly in the balcony under the midnight sky, watching the deserted roads of the Capitol. I place the glass of scotch on the nearby table and slump tiredly in the chair. Today, if I were honest, was a whirlwind of unprecedented occasions. Her Highness, as she put it, _sacrificed greatly _to train the _uncivilized beasts _(the sacrificial lamb and myself) to emulate the bare minimum decorum and propriety. "Dignity, Cultzealot, dignity! Stop walking like an uncivilized barbarian; walk like a cultured man!" her shrill voice lectured in my head like a broken record and I grimace in my seat and recalled my _very exciting _afternoon with Her Highness.

As I review my afternoon, my grip on the cup unconsciously got firmer and tighter. Her Highness had denounced my oversized clothes as nothing more than unfashionable rags not even fitting for pigs, and demanded that I wear more fitting clothes that showed off my, as she puts it, dreamy and lean torso. Colours of various shades were put against my skin and my long shaggy hair had been cut and _styled _to the latest fashion: short, ruffled hair.

The most _fascinating _part was the moment the annoying team of _stylists_ and Her Highness took measurements of my body. Their shocked faces, their gasps and the moment of silence that followed when they saw my decorated torso were priceless. Golden and priceless. Upon recovering from their paralysis, the team continued to take whatever measurements they needed- from the most trivial such as the length of each of my finger to the awkward moment of measuring the length of my anatomy. All this, as they love to coo, "For the sake of the most fashionable and immaculate Tuxedo."

However, what truly was the icing on the cake was the fact that Her Highness managed to stealthily slide past my _impregnable _defences. When the _stylists _were away to begin tailoring my Tuxedo for the Interview with Felix Flickerman and I was putting on my new _fashionably _tight-fitting clothes, Her Highness came to me in her disgustingly tiny orange dress and orange pointy little shoes. "Cultzealot, you poor darling!" she crooned as she stood on her toes and attempted to comfort me by patting my head, "Your parents _never _loved you, did they?"

Crack.

"Hey." I turn swiftly in my seat, my hand grasp firmly around a shard of glass and I am ready to kill the intruder. Moonlight shine and I blink at her disoriented, glance at the shard in my hand and then to the red line that draw ugly across her fair cheek. I frown a little bit more as I glance again at the shard, her wound, the shard, the crushed glass and finally I meet her eyes. I sigh tiredly as everything clicked in my head. The crack earlier should have been louder than just a mere cracking sound; after all, I crushed the glass in my hand. With some shards trapped in my skin and I had used another, slightly larger than its comrades, to slash my own compatriot.

Oh well. If she is a willing sacrificial lamb, surely a thin slash would be nothing more than an itch.

"I would apologize for intruding in your private moment but after scarring me," she frowned as she touched the wound tenderly, "I think you should apologize."

I stare at her, blink very slowly and then I whisper, "Would you fault one's self-preservation instincts?" When she release a huff of exasperation, I chuckle lightly, "We're even; sit there, I'll be right over with you." I slide off the chair, wash my hands, fetch a first aid box and pour her glass of scotch. Settling beside her on the couch, I lean into her face and begin cleaning the wound. Silence wane as I continue my arduous work and I relish the silence; better the silence than mindless chatter.

And I just had to jinx it.

"Is your cold and dark sarcasm just a facade? A genuine cold person won't bother tending to my wound." My body involuntarily tense and startle, and my head whip back and I stare squarely at her. I open my mouth, shut it again and then I lean in again to resume my work. Why has she asked such absurd question? There is no need for facades; _I am me._ I am the way I am. "I heard you howling this evening, after everyone had retreated for the night," she continues and I gradually find it hard to focus on tending to her wound, "For whom are you crying for?"

"I am crying for no one," I scoff as I pack up the first aids after tending to the wound I gifted her with. I am not lying; there truly is no one for me to grieve for because I never had anyone. I stand up to leave when she grab onto my elbow and pull it hard enough for me to turn to look at her with a sly smirk. "Is that your way of thanking-"

"Stop acting so tough, will you?" she interrupts me with a vicious snarl that is laced with an undercurrent of hurt and anger, "I know you're in pain. I feel them; your loneliness, your guilt and despair, your- "

"None of them has ever been any business of yours," I whisper harshly in her face and pointedly ignore the streaks of tears that streamed down the sides of her face, "Watch your own back or you will regret it."

I glare at her as her accusations seemed to have slid under my defences. Somehow her words hurt. _They hurt a lot._ Lies do not hurt; they never did but truths... Truths always hurt but she cannot be telling the truth now, can she? Suddenly, my heart seemed to constrict painfully and breathing seem so, so _difficult._

Breathe. Compose. Breathe.

"Hayden, we're kindred."

Those words throw my world into complete disarray. In that split moment, my composure and everything I had known to be disciplined and complete fell apart. The sense of loneliness, the need to feel belonged suddenly surfaced so quickly as if someone had opened a tightly shut dam. I am floored. I am out of depth. The boy, with the help of the sacrificial lamb, triumphs over the sinful murderer and I... I kiss her chastely on the lips.

"Even if you believe we are kindred, that won't stop me from killing you," I withdraw slowly from the kiss and whisper on her lips. She replies me with an affirmative and a nod, and I bid her good night as we both retreat into our private chambers. Sitting on the foot of my bed, I mull quietly over the whole day- in the day, I was with Her Highness and now this: Exella Iver. The sacrificial lamb. My partner. The girl I kissed. The last title sends me a multitude of shudders as I rub a hand sloppily across my face as I shake my head.

Why was it so easy for them to slip through my guards? Why had it been so easy for them to have hurt me? Why did the words when spoken by them hurt more than when spoken by others? Have I been too complacent and therefore dropped my guards around them?

_You have let them into your world and your heart because you trust them. _

_You care about them. _

_You stupid foolish little boy._

I release a strangled cry of frustration as I grit my teeth in anger and I glare at the wall. My anger and my shame swirl together in a torrent of emotions along with the usual despair, guilt, loneliness. Blinded by my rage, I rain punches on the mirror before I toss it away and turn my exploding temper on the windows surrounding my room. Rage and shame, despair and haplessness mounted and whisper endlessly as my masks slip and break. Disgust rise my throat as I fight for my supreme composure but to no avail.

_I have fallen._

As defeat continues to whisper and rise from the abyss of my mind, I slump weakly against a wall. My carefully crafted guards, my impregnable defenses, the endless distance between the outside world and my soul... All of them penetrated albeit unknowingly by two irksome, weak preys. So, what does that make me?

I have lost all dignity to be a predator. I am defenseless and weak.

_Have I truly become a prey?_


	25. Interviews

**A/N (Glossy): **Here are the Interviews! Please send in your Games forms if you haven't already. Also tell me how many tributes you want to see dead in the bloodbath in the reviews. This is a longish chapter, so that's great.

**Saffron Edinburgh, 17 (written by Lady Fluorspar)**

**District 1 Male**

For the interviews my stylist apparently decided to dress me up as royalty. Sitting in between Velvet and Valeria, my attire is regal purple pants and jacket trimmed with gold, complete with a ruffled white shirt and a heavy half-cape.

"Oh, you look just so dashing!" She had sighed.

"All you need is a white horse and you could actually be a fairy tale prince!"

When Velvet is called up, I catch my reflection in one of the screens, and I dare say I stand out next to the other tributes. Like a Pegasus carted next to mules, I muse. I recognize that the audience has a preference for beautiful tributes, but would they care for me? Doubt and uncertainty creeps into my mind, what if bringing up such a delicate subject will be censored? I quickly shake these thoughts away.

Too soon, Velvet finishes up and they're calling Saffron Edinburgh. Like I practised, I make my way centre stage, exactly three and a half steps.

"So Saffron, the Capitol must be quite a change from District One. What surprised you the most since you arrived here?" asks Felix, a friendly smile on his face. He leans towards me completely at ease, as if we were intimate friends having a simple chat.

"To be honest, the summer heat of the last few days has been... a bit much" I tug on the collar of my jacket uncomfortably

"Do you mind if I?"

Felix makes a grand sweeping gesture and flashes me an encouraging smile "Go right ahead"

In one swift movement I tug my shirt, jacket, and cape over my head and let my clothes fall gently to the floor.

Felix lets out a low whistle. "Man, is it just me, or did it just get even hotter?" He turns to the audience and makes a big show of fanning himself with his hand

Jade was right, Felix does his best to make the tributes shine. My heart starts beating faster when I remember Prometheus' disapproval. It is a risky plan, to be sure, but I cannot dismiss the decisions of my heart.

"Alright Saffron," he turns back to me  
>"here's the question everybody's wondering, a handsome lad like you must have some special girl back home. Come on, what's her name?" Felix asks, leaning forward eagerly<p>

I shake my magnificent head, "I have no special girl back home." I whisper, lowering my eyes

"Come on lad, who do you think you're fooling?" he scoffs "You have a locket with her picture around your neck, let's have a look at shall we?"

I open the locket and present her picture to the cameras. A lovely dark haired girl with deep blue eyes and creamy skin, smiling blissfully as if she didn't have a care in the world.

"Oh she's a pretty one that's for sure, count yourself lucky" Felix remarks

I shake my head again.

"That girl isn't from home. She's from the Capitol."

The audience gasps. Felix blanches, not expecting this turn of events.

"And she's not mine, she was my uncle's fiancée. They were separated during the Partitioning."

The room suddenly goes quiet and all I can hear is my rapidly beating heart. Prevail or fail, this is the moment of truth.

To my relief, a sympathetic murmur runs through the audience. Because who amongst the older Capitolites hasn't lost a friend or neighbour when the walls went up and the states turned into districts? The Peacekeepers eye me suspiciously, and finger their guns. Simply mentioning the Partitioning could be branded as seditious intent but I am not concerned. I am confident they wouldn't kill me right here in front of the cameras, and not after either because I can't be replaced this late in the game.

"Is there a Corina Greeth in the audience?" I ask softly

The audience murmurs and looks around but no one steps forward. My heart sinks. Could she have actually died in the war? Will this all be for naught? The doubts start creeping back, and I start to wonder if I should have listened to Prometheus.

No. I made a promise to my uncle and I will keep it no matter what.

I take a deep breath steady my shaking hands.

"Know that... know that Edward Edinburgh has never loved another. The day you were trapped in the Capitol when you missed the return flight to District 1 was the worst day of his life. For over twenty years my uncle has been looking for you, and this message may be the only way he finds you."

Without warning, the buzzer sounds, jolting Felix out of his reverie. (Perhaps he too was thinking of someone he lost?)

"And we're out of time! Best of luck, Saffron Edinburgh, tribute from District One." he beams, slipping back into character seamlessly

He stands up and shakes my hand firmly, for a second I see a hint of sorrow in his eyes, but it quickly disappears.

The audience breaks into applause which continues long after I'm seated. I look to my mentors for reassurance. Jade flashes me a quick smile and Prometheus grudgingly gives me a subtle thumbs up.

From their point of view, the fact that I wasn't killed on the spot meant my interview was a spectacular success. They're only thinking of the emotional appeal, how much sponsorship and support I'll have once I enter the arena.

From my point of view, if Corina never hears my uncle's feelings, I would have failed.

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

Everyone had gathered for their interviews by the stage. This was the first time since I got here that I did not feel the tension and headache of stress on my shoulders. Not that I wasn't nervous or that I didn't think that this was important, but I was on the final hurdle and the relief I felt was wonderful. For one moment, I was not going to think about tomorrow. I would just be.

The entirety of the pre-Hunger Games tasks refused to go right. I would have one triumph only to be pushed a dozen steps back. My mentor fails to help me, but my stylist shockingly rebounds with a beautiful opening. Training went all right and I certainly ended up with an admirable score – one of the highest! – only to have my leg gashed open by Velvet throwing a shit fit at her terrible score.

What the hell did she do to get such a terrible score? Perhaps the gamemakers simply don't like her and want her to die off as soon as possible. I certainly can't blame them.

After the Velvet debacle, I almost literally stormed onto our floor. I would not have been surprised to see storm clouds hovering over me and lightning bolts shooting out of me. How in the hell was I supposed to carry the games with an injured leg?! This was bullshit!

Thankfully, my escort came through in a pinch and showed me some sort of salve that almost immediately repaired not only the muscle beneath, but the skin on top, leaving only a slight discoloration in my skin. I had actually hugged him for the help!

Now I just needed to get through the interview. Once again, my stylist pulled through and put me in a dark blue evening gown that glittered like moonlight on water. A silver powder was applied to my skin to suffuse the look, and my make-up was finished with a light pink lipstick and dark blue eye shadow. I was so relieved that I would be the third person up on the stage, but as it was that I found myself staring into the back of Saffron's head and, by extension, Velvet's I concentrated my gaze in the hopes that I might burn a hole through the both of them.

They remained hole free however and after ignoring everything they said, I hear my name called and I stride out onto the stage, with a wide smile and I wave to the audience, who jump to their feet in applause.

Felix rises from his chair with an expression of awe and when I give him my hand, he kisses the knuckle much like Saffron had done. I didn't care for it from Felix either, but he was the man who could get me sponsors so I merely grinned excitedly before taking my seat.

"Now, how about that training score? A 9! Tied for highest of all the Tributes! Anything you would like to say about that?"

"I am fully prepared for the Games and I promise I will pull no punches," I say and send a wink out into the crowd, earning myself wolf whistles.

"Got any specific plans for the games? Details, details!"

"Now, Felix, you know I can't tell everyone my secrets. Then there would be no surprises!"

"Oh yes, I do love surprises! Don't we all?"

There was an answering roar from the crowd and it took a little bit for it to die down again. I was aching a little inside. My interview would be over before I knew it and I didn't want the interview to comprise of all of two questions. Felix seemed to sense my distress because he waved down the crowd and returned his attention to me.

"Now, I want to ask about your debut here to the Capitol. Obviously, it's your first time coming here. Anything in particular stand out to you?"

"The scenery of the Capitol. We have mountains and trees in District 2 as well, but I must say the Capitol's forests and mountains are absolutely magnificent. I could only dream to live in a place like this," I replied a little wistfully and with a sad smile.

There was a corresponding 'aww' from the crowd as they took in my saddened countenance. Truthfully, what I loved most were the showers, but I felt that answer would be rather uncouth. Or maybe it would have been better. I really can't say.

But Felix patted my hand and said, "That's truly a shame, but I'll tell you what. You win the games and you can come back here every year after to train the new recruits. How does that sound?"

"Sounds absolutely fantastic. I would look forward to that."

Suddenly a buzzer sounded and Felix's face fell. "Oh, I'm so sorry, but Valeria's time is up."

I heard boos of dismay. Thankfully, it didn't take much to make me look sad, because I was sad. There was absolutely nothing of substance to that interview. I am well-trained with surprises up my sleeve and I like the Capitol of the scenery? Yuck. But at least I had my training, training score, and my beautiful outfits going for me.

That would have to suffice.

**Sabrina Partridge, 16 (written by RowlingTribute91)**

**District 6 Female**

Wow. This week's been a rollercoaster. I've been quiet during training, always working at camouflage, learning how to identify plants and start a fire; basic hand-to-hand combat moves. I can do these well enough. Although many tributes seemed friendly, I wasn't keen on finding allies. You just never know who might betray your trust and murder you.

Later, I got a lousy 3 for my camouflage exhibition. Oh well. Let the sponsors and tributes presume what they want about me. Inside that arena, it's anybody's game.  
>Only Albus knows my secret weapon: the staff. Nelly and I taught each other how to fight. Indoors, of course. We weren't about to be reaped without some physical training. Our practice staffs were covered in foam to protect us. Whenever we finished, the staffs would magically become hangers.<p>

Secret aside, I still have another opportunity to change the minds of potential sponsors. Everything comes down to now. Interview time! My dress isn't half bad; a knee-length, navy blue outfit with cap sleeves. And Cicero styled my hair into a messy bun. Altogether, it makes me feel rather elegant. Sans joins us all backstage with his prep team. He smiles at me briefly. I give him my own lopsided grin in return.

"Good luck up there," I hear myself tell him.

"You too."

Felix Flickerman, our esteemed host, calls out, "Let's hear a round of applause for our next tribute; from District Six, she'll drive you insane-haha, made that up myself!- Miiisss Sabrinaaaa Patridge!"

For shame, Felix. For shame.

I walk onstage to greet him politely; and he assists me into the interview chair.

"So," he begins, "are you ready for the Games?"

"That depends on what trouble I get myself into," I joke, receiving a laugh from the audience.

"I like to think I'm prepared. But with the arena, you just never know."

"District Six is, of course, home to our transportation industries. Can you tell us- I assume you're out of school and working- what role you play in your district?"

"I've been learning how to operate trains, actually."

Felix nods. "Impressive. So you must have seen every district by now."

"Yeah," I reply.  
>"Which one do you enjoy visiting the most?"<p>

The crowd watches me as I think over my answer. I can't go with District 6. Too obvious. District 1? They already get so much attention. So does District 2. Sure, they're beautiful locations. And every district is gorgeous to me. I find beauty everywhere. But there's one district in particular that conjures up all these wild emotions whenever I see it. They deserve recognition for their struggles; for their perseverance.

"It would have to be District Twelve," I tell Felix.

"Was not expecting that! Isn't she a generous young lady, folks? Standing behind the coal district?"

Everyone applauds loudly, as if they genuinely want to bring District 12 out of invisibility. Don't make me laugh. They'll forget it by the end of tonight.

"One last question," Felix says: "What do you want to say to your family and friends watching?"

I contemplate for a moment. My eyes meet the camera dead-on; imagining that I can see Nelly and Vic's faces staring back at me. "The odds might not be in my favor, but they are in your favor. Remember that if I don't come home. Never give up. I… I love you guys."

Oh no. I can't get all teary-eyed. Deep breaths, I think. Deep breaths.

"Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss Partridge. May the odds be ever in your favor!"

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

The lights are too bright, the costumes are too overdone and I am too nervous to be dealing with a bloody interview right now. Instead, I cross my arms and sigh, waiting for someone to call my name so I can have this interview thing over with. I don't know why they prolong these Games more than necessary. If I'm going to die, I'd like to do it quickly and without thinking about it, thank you very much.

The boy in District 4 climbs on stage, all smiles, waves and grins and I want to wretch. Not only am I worried about tomorrow, but I'm also worried about going on stage and making an ass of myself. I don't think I'll be able to stand making an ass of myself. I need Delilah here, for my good spirits. I need my mum here, for her encouragement.

Mum. Numbly my fingers go the pearl necklace hidden under the shiny silver shirt I wear. Sephora said it would be a good idea to hide the pearl necklace, seeing as it's very expensive and she doesn't want me getting attacked for it. This is stupid, because I won't get attacked until the day of the dead – my brand new nickname for this god awful Games – and by then, hopefully, the tributes won't care about my fucking pearl necklace. They'll care more, however, about the blood spilling from my throat.

I look up just as the girl from 5 goes on stage and wonder how hard I would have to smash my head into the wall to kill myself. Maybe I can kill myself now and I won't have to worry about someone else doing the honors. On second thought, they'd probably kill everything that I love for that, and I can't risk my family's death to put my own self out of this misery. Fuck, when did my thoughts get so dark? The same day Faustinus pulled your slip of paper out of the reaping bowl, you twat. I glare – at nothing in particular, because it's impossible to glare at yourself – and pout again. You know what else I've learned during these pre-games ceremonies? My subconscious is an asshole.

"Sabrina Partridge, District 6," A monotone voice calls. I look up at Sabrina and smile at her warmly, trying to encourage her. I know I have no chance, but she does. She has a chance to go home, and I want to make sure if I die, then she's the lucky winner. Or, unlucky, considering the things I've heard from some of the Victors.

"Good luck, Sabs."

"… Thanks, Sans," she smiles back – a small ghost of a thing – before walking out onto stage. I retreat back into my thoughts after that, the agonizing boredom of being a middle district hitting me full impact. I hate District 6, because you wait forever for it to be your turn, and then you wait forever for District 12 to stop yapping. It's irritating – but everything has been irritating lately because I never got the chance to and now that I'm gonna die well, I want to be a cranky old man while I can – and I really just wish I was District 1. Or at least, Capitol, so I don't even have to go through this shit.

"Kill me now," I groan loudly, sinking to the ground. I hear the District Seven boy snicker something about 'Oh, they will' and I glare at him. No time for his assholish ways, I have my own to deal with. I glance at the screen, where Sabrina's timer is running. She still has a few minutes left in her interview, unfortunately these things go slow. Three minutes per tribute, enough to fit all of us into two agonizingly long hours.

I almost jump in glee when I hear my name is called. Sparing one last glance at the rest of the tributes, I take a deep breath and walk onto stage, my mouth pulled into a sweet smile. I glance shyly the crowd – only because Sephora told me to go for humble – and sit next to Felix, pecking each of his cheeks like I've seen the Capitol socialites do on the drab television they allow us to watch.

"So Sans, obviously it's a very exciting night for everyone! Is there anything you have to say to your adoring fans?"

"No, not particularly, Felix. Only that I'm sorry I won't be around to entertain you with my beautiful self and my antics." Briefly my true self shines, seeing as that is something that I would have said to Delilah.

"Oh nonsense! I'm sure you'll be right back here soon so we can hear all about your crazy adventures," he gushes. I smile at him, and switch to play up the humble charade. Keep your personality in check, Sans.

"Yes, I do hope so. There are just so many much better competitors… I don't think little ol' me can do very much to that big, scary, District 2 dude!" I gasp, and the camera pans to him, where he flexes his muscles. I want to roll my eyes, but the crowds eyes are still glued to me and one slip-up can fuck up all the hard work Sephora and I put into perfecting my act.

"Yes, about the others. Your score... how do you feel about that?" Right, that 5. One of lowest scores of our alliance. I'd done nothing to impress the Gamemakers - did a few memory tests and maimed a few dummy's with my hakapiks - and I'd suffered from it. My score was horrendous.

"I guess I deserve even receiving a score. The gamemakers were generous with me." The crowd copes and Felix pats my shoulder. It seems like he wants a change of topic.

"So Sans… that girl at your reaping-" A brief clip is played of me at the reaping, kneeling in front of Delilah's wheelchair. There are a few pitying sighs, and I can almost picture Delilah's disgust. "-is that your girlfriend?"

"Heavens no!" I gasp, laughing a little. Delilah and I? An item? I'm not even sure I still like girls. "She's practically a sister to me.

"Oh? Well, what did she tell you? We've all been dying to hear." Stay stoic. Be the mirror of your partner, I'll see you in Goodbyes okay? Sans keep your head in the game!

The words bounce around in my head, dance at the tip of tongue and echo in my ears, yet I cannot bring myself to say them. Something about them are private, important, and saved for no one's ears but my own. I don't know why, but I feel those words should remain a secret. A small, meaningless, secret, but a secret nonetheless.

"She… well… she told me she loved me, and happy birthday," I lie instead. The crowd gasps – and so does Felix – and I nod, shrugging sadly.

"My birthday falls on reaping you see and… in all the fuss she forgot about it. So she said happy birthday. Parting gift, in case she wasn't able to make it to goodbyes."

"Well! I think that deserves a 'happy birthday' song, no? Come on, everyone, all together now!" The entire crowd – including some of the tributes – stand and sing happy birthday. Some are off key, and others are downright stumbling over and missing words, but for some reason it touches me. It reminds that not all Capitolites are evil, and not all are assholes. It reminds me that they're still human. And like some sort of fucking wimp, I cry on stage on the shoulder of my interviewer.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, Sans Klein!" Felix calls happily, when the song ends. The crowd cheers and claps respectively, and even a few of them whoop, holler and chant my name. I've never felt so loved by a group of people in my entire life.

As I step off stage – mascara running and nose sniveling – I am embraced in unfamiliar yet strong arms. I almost laugh to see that Faustinus is hugging me, still humming the song. What a silly, silly escort.

**Paisley 'Blue' Button, 13 (written by TheSnowyAngel)**

**District 8 Female**

I look down at my dress and smile. Spring finally apologized for making me feel uncomfortable and made me a new dress that suits me more. It's a beautiful jade green cheongsam with beautiful golden peonies embroidery that flows out at the bottom, leaving a small trail behind. The stylists have tied my hair in a tight bun and secured it with grandmother's hairpin. They also gave me a jade coloured beaded bracelet with matching shoes.

"Thank you," I say with a grateful smile.

"My pleasure. I'm just so glad that I finally understood you. All I wanted was the best for you… I really think you have a chance out there."

She pulls me into a hug then ushers me towards the line where the other tributes are waiting. "Go on and wait for Gabe. Good luck!"

I give her a small bow then run towards the line. Gabe stands there in a jade green suit that matches mine. He gives me a quick look, then turns his head back towards the stage. I guess he doesn't really want to talk right now.

"Thanks, so do you." We have to stand there waiting for 15 minutes before it is our turn. I tried to give Sans a wave but he didn't see it. He did amazingly and I slap my forehead when he told Felix it's his birthday. I'm definitely going to shower him in Happy Birthday wishes later.

Thicket gives me hard stares and I feel myself shiver in fear. I try to squish myself between Gabe and the District 7 male in front of me but I still can't get rid of that queasy feeling.

Finally it's my turn and I walk onto the stage. The lights all shine on me in various colours. I start to feel slightly sick but I shake off the feeling. I'm not doing that again!

As I take a seat, Felix immediately bombards me with questions. "Wow Paisley! That's some beautiful gown you have there? Care to explain?"

"Oh, umm, thank you Felix. This is a Cheongsam, it's the traditional dress of the Chinese."

"Ahh, I see. You were wearing one on Reaping Day as well right?"

"Yep, that was actually my family's. Passed down from my great-great grandmother to her child all the way to me!" I say enthusiastically.

"Well, I must say, this is one of the most unique dresses I've ever seen! I'm pretty sure, that it'll be the next thing in Capitol Couture!" The crowd nod amongst themselves, agreeing with him. "Now Paisley, do you have any siblings?"

"Nope."

"Cousins? Relatives?" Meaning: Anyone else we can send in to die?

"Nope. It's just me, mother, father and grandmother."

"Oh, that must be sad that they're sending their only child to the games. But that means more glory for you right? When you win?" Did he seriously just say that?

"I suppose."

"Do you have anything to say to your family?" Felix points to a camera that is trained on me. I take a deep breath and give the camera a big smile.

"I love you guys so much. There is a sketchbook under my bed that I've never shown anyone. If I don't… come back, please take a look at it. It's filled with all my fabric ideas.

"Grandmother, don't worry about anything okay? You must remember to take your medicine and sleep at 7 o'clock sharp. I love you all," I say with a sad smile.

I hear a few sniffles from the crowd, some of them are crying. These people are so pathetic.

The buzzer rings and Felix helps lift me to my feet. "Ladies and Gentleman, give it up for Paisley Button!" They all cheer as I make my way off stage.

**Gabriel 'Gabe' Newman, 17 (written by Grand Coconut)**

**District 8 Male**

After Paisley exits the stage, I prop myself off the wall and wait for Felix to introduce me to the crowd before I walk onstage. I dust off my jade colored suit, even though it's as clean as it possibly could be. I take one last look at it in the mirror to make sure it still looks alright. The outer part of the suit is made of a reflective, satiny material. My shoes are shiny and polished, better than anything I have back home. Such attire makes me look pretty expensive on a night like this.

Before I know it, Felix's heavy voice is booming across the the auditorium. "And now, please welcome the _brave _Gabriel Newman, all the way from District Eight!"

And that's my queue.

I hold my head up and walk onto the stage. The applause of the capitolites reaches my ears and nearly blows my eardrums right out of my head, making me flinch. The bright lights of the stage are warm and beat down on my head. As my vision adjusts to the lights, I look out into the sea of capitolites and see them clapping and cheering for me, their faces contorted into expressions of pure excitement and insanity.

I keep walking ahead and meet Felix in the center of the stage. He shakes my hand vigorously, smiling so widely that I think his lips are about to split down the middle. He is a very animated man and I can't seem to choke down my laughter as I meet his gaze. He just looks so _crazy_ up close!

He sits down in his chair and motions me to do the same in the seat across from him. He's ready to begin. "It's nice to see you smiling, Gabe. Are you having a good evening?" He asks me in a friendly voice.

I plop down in my chair lazily. "As good of one as I can." I say. "How is _your_ evening?" I ask as he meets my gaze.

He grins. "It's delightful! Thank you for asking. This is my favorite part of the whole thing!"

I snort. "I'm sure it is." I say. A few people in the crowd laugh.

Felix doesn't know whether I'm taking a dig at him or just keeping up this idle conversation. He seems to go with the ladder and carries on. "So let's jump right in." He begins. "How do you plan to survive the next few weeks?" He asks with a curious look in his eyes. "I think that's the question we all want an answer to."

I smile slightly, my blue eyes meeting his. "I'm not gonna tell you too much, but I will let you know one thing." I say mysteriously.

Felix raises a neatly plucked eyebrow. "What is that?" He asks intently.

"I'm smart." I say simply. "Smarter than you could ever imagine." I smile, leaning back in my chair.

Felix nods. "That's certainly a great skill to possess!" He exclaims, encouraging me to give him more.

"I'm also creative." I continue. "And being both smart and creative can be a very dangerous thing. Well. For the other tributes at least." I smirk as a laugh slips out.

The crowd laughs too and I glance at them for a second.

Felix reflects my own smirk. "Well, we will definitely have to keep an eye on you then, won't we Mr. Newman?"

I laugh. "As I would expect you to do."

Felix shifts into a new position in his chair. He looks like he's about to dive into a more personal topic. And he does. "Now Gabe, let's go back to District Eight. What was your life there like?"

I sigh, not sure where to begin. I'm not gonna talk about my dad, any disciplinary notices from school, or anything that might provoke an uncomfortable conversation.

I open my mouth cautiously. "Well... I have an older brother, Nate, and a little sister, Rosie, and we're all roughly two years apart. I just finished up my junior year in high school and, um, I like cars?" I laugh nervously. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to know about?" I ask.

Felix smiles. "Tell us about _you_! Your strengths? Your weaknesses? We want to know the real Gabe!"

I nod and smile. "Well, I suppose I have a bit of a knack for rubbing people the wrong way. That's usually the first thing people notice about me. I can be a bit abrasive..." I shrug slightly. "And I've always had a hard time being anything less than honest with people, so that never fails to get me in trouble." I rub the back of my neck. "I'm not a bad kid though, I'm not. I'm super protective over the people I love and I have a good heart, even though I can come across as an asshole sometimes."

Felix nods. "I see." He says as he leans back in his chair.

"I just really don't want to be anything other than myself. If I'm not me, then what am I? A phony, a fake? That's not who I am. And I know I can hurt people's feelings sometimes because I'm not what they'd like me to be or I don't say the things they like, but at least I'm being true to myself." I say simply. "That's the most important thing."

Felix nods and smiles. "You know, Gabe, I'm growing to like you." He says after a moment. "You have confidence... And you have _fire. _It's something I don't usually see in outer district tributes. It's quite refreshing to see someone walk out here that's truly genuine and real. That kind of personality is enduring, whether you realize it or not. And that kind of charisma will take you far."

I smile. "Yeah? Thanks, Felix." I say. I'm happy he understands.

The crowd claps and cheers in agreement with Felix. I look out into the sea of people and see that they all look really happy. I feel a ghost of a smile cross my face.

Just then, the buzzer rings.

Felix stands up and stretches his gloved hand out to me. "Gabe, it has been an absolute _pleasure _having you tonight. Best of luck to you in the games!" He grins, that same lip splitting grin he gave me the first time I met him. And just as I did the first time, I laugh at his animated aura.

I wave goodbye to the crowd and walk off the stage with my head held high. As I go backstage, I feel relief of the bright lights being off of me and take a deep breath. I plop down next to Paisley as the girl from Nine comes onstage. I'm going into the games with a better advantage than most. I've got a good ally and a few people here that like me too.

"Great job, Gabe!" I hear Paisley say in just as much of an excited voice as her delicate voice will allow.

I glance down at her briefly before looking forward again. "Thanks."

**Paige Kraft, 15 (written by yellint22)**

**District 10 Female**

My nails scratch across my skin, leaving red marks in their path, as I try to relive the itch I get from the stuffy dress they have forced me into. Even the chicken outfit seems preferable to this. While Claudina and Yori had said I look 'beautiful' I certainly don't feel it. I feel out of place like a sore thumb. The bright purple garb they have forced me into- and I mean forced I had given them a lot of trouble and a black eye before I stood here- hangs down to my feet, disabling my ability to run from this nightmare, and doesn't even give me the curtsey of straps to hide my body.

The heels are the worst bit though, making me walk like a new birthed deer. All of me is hidden beneath these layers of make-up and cloth, my blue hair being the only part of me that remains, shinning out to everyone that I am still a person, a person they will kill, but a person none the less. Involuntarily a shiver runs through my spine at the k-word. Why was that? I am accepting of my death, I want this. But no matter how much I told myself that I can't shake the images from my nightmares.

People crowed round my wooden box as it was pulled off the train. Tears hitting the box. But they weren't my mother's as she mourned the death of her attempts to reach the top of the social ladder. And they weren't my dads as he realised the money he had spent on me was a waste. No these were the tears of Matt. My dead brother crying over my grave, his mumbles are usually unrecognisable in my nightmares but when they are they have me waking up in cold sweats.

"How could you Paige" he mumbles in between the sheen of water that shakes me awake each time, tears leaking out of my own eyes.

"Paige Kraft" Felix Flickerman calls out, signalling an applause from the audience in front on him. What gave him the right to use my name? Oh yeah, people wanted to see the pig before they enjoyed their pork. Eager to get this over with I march onto the stage, my arms hanging loosely at my sides. As I take my seat next to him the interrogation begins.

"So Paige how have you been finding the Capitol?" he asks, folding on leg over the over and turning to face me to make it clear just how staged our entire conversation is.

"It's fine," I sigh, not having much to say other than that. To me it's just a more colourful version of my home, with better tech and weather and more food.

"What's been your favourite bit so far?" he replies again, his tone slightly shaken by my blunt response.

"Not being at home" I answer, my goal of this entire endeavour falling into place.

"Oh, that's a shame, I bet the weather in ten sucks right?" he continues, his teeth slowly grinding with frustration.

"I guess" I shrug dismissively. Come on Felix. Ask me another question about home so I can imagine my mother squirming in her favourite armchair at home as she falls from grace.

"Surely getting an 8 was enjoyable, quite a good training score" he comments, clasping his palms together. Not quite the angle I want, but good, rub it in. My mum wants a 10 and I know how angry she must be that she didn't get it, I contemplated that a lot as I cut her out of my only photo of me and Matt I had with me.

"Not as good as your brother though, I remember he got a ten" Felix mentions. How dare he? How dare he mention my brother's fall into my mothers arms as she pushed him into fire?

"That is not an achievement" I replied sternly, no shake left in my voice.

"I think it is honey, maybe you don't understand, contestants are ranked from-" he begins to explain like I'm a stupid child who wouldn't know how the games I was raised for work.

"I know how they work but it was that score that killed my brother. It was that score that made the careers go after him and kill him" I spit the last words, my voice raising in volume as my body stiffens up.

"So I presume you are going to do better than your brother, you know show him whose best" he jokingly laughs as if this is just one big game to him. I know the name suggests it is but these aren't games.

"No I intend to die" I laugh back as I walk off, not waiting for the buzzer to tell me to leave.

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

Standing in front of the mirror, I close my eyes briefly before I reopen them to stare at my own reflection. I look nothing like the slob that I had pretended to be and I most certainly do not have the eyes of a predator anymore. There is that faint glinting; a bothersome worry that Exella had summoned from somewhere deep within me. They have awakened that fear in me- the fear of losing her. I shake my head as I release a shuddering breath.

There is no danger; there is no need for fear. I am not a prey. I will not sink to the lowest level of the hierarchy. I am a natural predator!

No, I am not _just _a natural predator. I am a natural predator whose territory is imposed on. I am a predator who is threatened; and what does a beast do when its threatened? It obviously becomes stronger, fiercer and more ruthless. _Oh sweet mercy Exella, what kind of monster have you made me? _By giving me something to care for, to want to protect, you have made me a greater predator than I ever was. The corners of my smile twitches and I chuckle darkly when I saw my familiar smirk stretching its way across my face. Oh yes, I am _still _a predator but one that has evolved to be more _merciless._

Tonight I will declare my intentions and respond to Danus' declaration of war on my being. And... Tonight is the night that I face one of the world's greatest...moron, Felix Flickerman. The man who does not only sound stupid but also looks stupid. I can only hope that the some Heavenly being would not castrate him to be an epitome of stupidity. Then again, if I were honest, even I look stupid tonight. It seemed predetermined for everyone to look stupid.

I stride down the aisle towards the backstage, not bothering to even glance at my potential killers or allies. Standing lazily, I watch the interviews of my fellow tributes. Some were downright stupid like Felix Flickerman, others were...worthy. As my lips curl into a sneer, my eyes flicker to remember the faces of unworthy fools- the ones who wish to be victorious but lack the courage to be. Whoever said that having the will to kill would make you a victor had to be a rather pathetic dunderhead. Victory comes in many forms and blindly killing would not do. Most certainly not.

There are those like the Careers who know what they are talking about; they know victory can be achieved in many ways and they _have _a plan unlike the unworthy fools. These tributes, no doubt, are the ones setting my blood singing in my ears. They will be the ones most worthy of being hunted or hunting me down. I lick my lips in anticipation as I welcome the sheer delight into my being.

And then there is me; I am simply disinterested in being made into glorified legends and having our paths kissed as the perceived _superiors_. What I want is more than the game can give, more than the Capitol and its people can, more than the president can; I want freedom. I want to be unbound, free from the chains of fate. Yes, only death can give me that and I... I have waited years for it. No one, no one at all, will stop me.

"Hayden, tell me young man, how does it feel to have a score that rivals those from District 1 and 2?" Flickerman asked as he leaned into my face and I blink slowly at him.

_How does it feel?_

I sigh quietly as the words of District 6 mentor, Albus Bonher, echoes in my head. We met in a pub somewhere in the heart of the Capitol the night the results were announced.

I slumped lazily and tiredly in the dark corner. With a glass of scotch in hand, I swallowed the burning liquid for the umpteenth time. Was I really expecting a score that could rival those trained beasts? I shake my head as I continue pouring another glass mechanically. There is nothing to this, except perhaps I am a marked enemy. They will come at me in all shapes and sizes, the Capitol Gamemaker might as well have declared war on me. Suddenly, the corner of my lips twitched and without needing to look at my own reflection, that usual malicious smirk spread its way across my face. Perhaps giving me a score that rivals those of the career tributes is his declaration of war; then I suppose courtesy demands that I issue mine as well.

Just as I was raising another cup to my lips, a larger hand covered mine and forcefully guided the cup down slowly. My free hand swiped an Army knife and slashed an inch away from the intruder's neck. "Easy there, Cultzealot," the intruder chided as he patted my head patronizingly and I glared at his friendly face, "I'm not the enemy, Cultzealot."

I scoffed. There is nothing friendly about people whose eyes glint darkly. Albus Bonher, the victor of District 6. As I slowly withdrew my knife-hand as he gradually removed his hold on my drinking-hand. "May I be of any assistance?" I drawled bored as I swirled the cup and watched the liquid slosh clumsily.

"I'll be frank; I want you to be allies with Sans Klein," he laid the deal of trades and I narrowed my eyes just a bit, "The spied. see you as a threat to the careers; they think you're as deadly. Be an ally to Klein and I will ensure that you will also be sharing the sponsorship I devote to Klein." A supposedly good benefit I would receive if I were to team up with the flamboyant boy from Six, but that is only if I plan to win. Since I have no reason to win, such a trade has no merits to me apart from perhaps adding more amusement to my finale.

"I'll think about it, Bonher." As I said it, I added the unspoken no promises. Surprise flickered in his eyes but still, he nodded and smiled.

Resting my head on one hand and rubbing my temple lazily, I sigh dramatically. Should I enter the alliance to satisfy my amusement? A long lazy smirk stretches its way across my lips. How ridiculous; of course I have decided, I chide myself. I am a threat. I am still a predator; just a strange predator that I am not used to being.

_How does it feel?_

"It feels..." I pause for a while as I bask in the anxious silence; no doubt everyone in the audience and perhaps further, are in extreme discomfort. All of them waiting and wondering as I mull unnecessarily for the words that have long been selected. "Exhilarating," I continued coolly as my smile turns from a sly smirk into a gentle, cold smile, "Privilege. Honored. It's a strange sense of pride knowing people rate me to be dangerous."

"Isn't that just exciting? This year will be great, I just know it!" Felix coos to the raging audience and I smile satisfied but the smile soon slips at the corners when the audience begin to quieten down. Our very courteous and friendly host suddenly boom and I whip my head to look at him through narrowed eyes, "Tell me Hayden, what is it like to have no one to say goodbye to?"

I blink once as I slowly absorb the question. Truly a mystifying question. A smirk grace my lips lazily as I lean more comfortably in my seat. Yes, what shall I say? A concocted lie to earn the pity of others? A false truth to diverge their attentions away?

"The feeling is akin to...feeling relief," I finally sneer and smirk feral and widely when I hear the gasps from the wide-eyed audience. Truly, how easy to play with the heart strings of humans. I chuckle darkly at Flickerman's speculative and curious look and I decide to simply humour him a little more. "It's a relief not to do those...boring, sappy farewell moments. I'm not here to be glorified as a legend; I'm here to...test my limits." When I utter the last word, I smiled gently at the cameras. Let them all know I will not be an easy kill.

_Did you hear my declaration of war, Danus?_

"Well... That is very...surprising," Flickerman sputters as he grins widely but awkwardly at the stunned audience, "Well, may the odds-"

"I have no illusions of my future, Flickerman," I sneer coldly as I stand to leave the stage, "I am unlike the rest, I am not doing this to win." Without another glance, I stroll off the stage and pointedly ignore the looks from the other tributes. I have better things to do than sit around worrying about my grim...or rather highly anticipated future.


	26. Night Before The Games

**A/N (Glossy): **You only have one more chance to get a chapter in. Many of you are safe, but not all.

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

I can't sleep. I have difficulty imagining that anyone can. Tomorrow. Tomorrow bright and early, we are heading to the games, where twenty-three of us will die and only one of us will live. Even as a career, the thought chills me to the bone.

Right now I'm sitting in front of my giant window wall, flipping through all the scenes. Street scenes of the Capitol, a view of the President's Palace, a beautiful fountain where Capitol residents are lingering, there's a shot of a forest where the trees shoot up into the sky so high that I can't even see the tops, a lovely snow scene on a mountain…and I can't help but wonder which environment we'll be greeted with tomorrow. My money's on forest. Without a doubt that has been the most popular.

It's also the least likely to inadvertently kill champions. It offers plenty of resources and allows for the champions to fight each other. If it was going to be a snowy place, I think I would get as many supplies as possible, hunker down, and wait for the lesser Tributes to either freeze to death or attempt to come in for supplies. But it makes for a boring game and the Capitolites can't stand boring.

I am frightened for my life, but that is not all that has been bothering me. No amount of training can prepare you to kill someone. I, especially as a career, am expected to enter the arena and virtually slaughter my competitors, most of whom will neither be as big as fast or as strong as I am. While that improves my chances, it twists my insides and I feel a small amount of nausea. I have to kill innocent people, children, and their only crime was being picked for the Games.

I shudder and try to push away particular Tributes that pop into my head. That little girl from District 5 and the one from District 8. I can only imagine how they're feeling right now. I actually noticed the one from 8 smiling a few times and I do quietly commend her for being so cheerful in light of her certain death. I know I would be a hopeless mess in her situation. I sincerely hope that I will not be in the position to kill them. I don't know how I'd be able to live with the blood of children on my hands.

I have never thought I was a particularly violent person by nature, but the stress of the pre-Games and, truthfully, thoughts of the games themselves has really amped my mindset. I have to be prepared to be violent and perhaps this is my brain's way of gearing up for that. That is my hope anyway. I really don't want to carry this violence for the rest of my life.

But to an extent, if I win the games I _will_ be carrying it forever. Is that a price I'm willing to pay? With the alternative being death, I don't have a choice anymore.

For the first time in my life, I quietly lament that I ever decided to be a Career.

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

I massage my muscles as I stretch in my bedroom. These past few days – not including my interviews and the preparations for that – have left me sore but definitely flexible. I haven't put on much muscle, but I have been exercising my abilities the best I can. I can certainly run a bit faster, and I have a little more fat on my bones. I really have a better chance now.

I'm proud of myself for the first time in a long time.

I am just preparing for bed when someone knocks on my door. Drying my shiny red locks with a towel, I press the red button for it to slide open, and it reveals Faustinus. She's plain and without her eccentrics, her hair – a rainbow of colors now – falling over her shoulders. Her make-up discarded, she's draped in a black robe.

"What's up?" I ask curiously. What was my escort doing at my room at night? She gives me a sad look before beckoning me to follow her. Shrugging, I obey and follow her out into the main area. Briefly I look around for Sabrina or Albus, but they're nowhere in sight. So Faustinus just wants to talk to me then.

"I… Albus has already chosen Sabrina to focus on," she tells me, sitting on the love seat. My stomach sinks to my toes. Basically, Albus has decided Sabrina's life is worth more than mine. He's decided that it's better off leaving me for dead… I look up again at Faustinus. That's when I notice the red puffiness in her eyes, and she begins crying again, burying her face in her hands.

"Shh… calm down, it's alright," I say, attempting to soothe her – which is a bit stupid because I'm the one that's just been sent to die without the hope of help from my mentor. But I don't particularly mind Faustinus and I had formed a bond… a sort of friendship that was as special to me as Delilah's was. At this point, I realize that I'll miss my escort while in the arena.

"No it's not alright. Nothing is alright anymore, Sans," she sighs, looking up at me. Her eyes are wide and a muted green and her lips are soft and full, forming a sort of pout. It's then that I notice how close we are, our noses almost touching.

I'm not sure who leans in first, all I know is that somehow we're kissing. It's rushed and upset and full of Faustinus' salty tears but… it's my first kiss. And there are no sparks, like my mother describes or no new feelings like my sister had once gushed. There's no sudden urge to go further with it, as I'd overheard the boys in my year brag. I feel nothing.

I pull away at the thought, staring at her sadly. I don't feel the same way for her as she feels for me.

"I'm sorry," she sighs, looking down. "I didn't mean to… initiate anything I just…"

"Emotions are running over," I soothe. "We're both experiencing something we've never experienced before and we're scared. You need an outlet. I get it."

"Really?"

"Of course I do. I may have the personality of a seven-year-old, but I am seventeen, and I do know what happens when two adults love each other very much," I joke. Faustinus laughs, swiping at the tears on her face. Then a horrified look comes on her face.

"Oh god, I'm a child molester," she whispers. The look of disgust and horror on her face is pretty evident and real and it's quite funny.

"How so?" I ask, folding my legs on the couch. I almost groan from the movement, the soreness really hitting my leg muscles hard.

"I'll be thirty-four next month," she deadpans. That really elicits a laugh from me and she raises an eyebrow. She's probably wondering what's so funny about her age.

"Nah. In the Districts, the legal age to have sex and marry is sixteen. I don't know what it is here, but to me that kiss was totally alright. Besides, it's not like I fucked you or anything," I shrug. As soon as I say the words however, heat rushes to my face. _Oh god, what the fuck is your problem Sans?_

"I know," Faustinus mutters, not catching my newfound embarrassment. "But in the Capitol, it's eighteen."

"Well I'm right in the middle then. So let's just say we're going by District." We talk more after that, about this and that. It's nearing midnight when she nudges me, telling me that I need to get rest. I stand, stretch and begin to make my way back to my room. Before I enter however, I glance back at Faustinus, and she bids me goodnight. I nod and mime tilting a hat before slipping in my room to collapse into my bed, letting exhaustion take me over.


	27. Launch

**A/N (Glossy): **Final chapter before Games! I will be posting what happens in the bloodbath and what your section of the POV is on the forum soon. The following tributes are fillers and have no chance to win: Lucas, Fleur, Arlette, Fords, Blair, Paisley, Ace, Talia, Emry, Thicket, Exella. Good luck to all of you!

**Velvet Luxe, 18 (written by BecksTheDivergent)**

**District 1 Female**

My mind changes in such perplexing ways. Last night, after screwing up my interview and causing Felix to fall offstage, I hit rock bottom. But today all I am is joy and anticipation. The games are finally here, after one tedious week of waiting. Don't get me wrong, I love the lights here. But today I'm reeling because after all my life. I finally get to do what I do best: maiming and killing. I obviously haven't gotten in trouble yet, that's where my sister comes in. See, I had a sister. Had.

Twinkle was the perfect one. I resented her. Hated her, even. She got all the attention. My parents only paid attention to her. I was the black sheep. They loved and doted on her, while I was basically always three floors up in my room lamenting my situation and letting my condition get worse. That was when I started self-harming, carving words like no and help into my skin, saying things like I can't take this in my sleep. I could never muster up the courage to burn myself though. Everything around me turned into a weapon. A spearhead, the corner of my fancy kitchen table, an earring back, anything. It was a beautiful thing whenever one of my long nails ripped and broke. But there's one scar I can't explain.

It's a beautiful one, a white scar in the shape of a heart located on my right wrist, and to this day it remains unbeknownst to me as to how I got it. I've had it as long as I can remember.

One day a boy fearlessly approached me. He said it was pretty. I ended up trusting him. Worst screw-up ever. We were fourteen. We ended up dating, and then his parents told him to break up with me, so I strangled them and changed forever. The peacekeepers came to collect the bodies, and I blamed their deaths on Twinkle. Little bitch couldn't prove it was her sissy, as she called me, insisting she was tougher than me. Ha. Likely story. I had had my sweet revenge.

And then last night, an avox came to bring a towel to my bathroom after I had announced I was going to take a shower. Except it was Twinkle. She bitchslapped me and left, which I deserved for being such and awful fuck. All I heard that night was the cracking of a whip. I had stolen a kitchen knife off the table the night the training scores were revealed so I got it out. One cut, I told myself. Then I left and walked to the roof and being a dumbass, didn't realize there was a forcefield at the bottom. So I stood at the ledge, taking in my last moments of life, and then someone startled me. Needless to say, I tripped over and fell off the building, being propelled back by the forcefield. I'm almost entirely sure it was a little kid. Now my life is ruined.

Gleam was my worst mistake. Note the was. I ended up getting mad at him while holding a knife, so I killed him. Stabbed him in the chest 37 times, I remember. Then stuck that shit through his stomach, ripped it out of his left side.

"Vel, you suck at this," Gleam says while swinging the rope.

"Yeah, well you suck at life," I reply and smirk at the knife so conveniently in my hand. Raise it.

"Oh, don't you dare, Velvet ," His eyes widen.

I stick the knife in him and lose myself. One, two, three, four, five… thirty-six, thirty-seven. I pull a serrated one off the shelf and stick it in his stomach, letting him register his death. After a few seconds of maniacally laughing, or as most people I know call it bipolarly laughing, I rip the bloody knife out of his left side and he screeches in pain. Before passing out, he breathes his last words, which will stay with me forever.

"You broke the tie," Gleam hisses.

Then he passes out and bashes his head against the wall, effectively killing him.

I notice Gleam's beautiful emerald green eyes glaze over.

I had made this other girl kill herself so I could have him. It was marked down as suicide and I was home free.

I was with Gleam for a mere two months.

Then I notice the array of fresh cuts on my left wrist, the only one I do anything to, which sends me crashing back to reality. One cut, I told myself. Now a third of my forearm is covered in cuts. How the fuck did that even happen?

"Velvet. Velvet. Hey! Velvet!" someone waves their hand in front of my face.

"Shut up, douchebag!" I yell and twist their wrist. I end up wrestling with Prometheus on the floor and Escort Bitch yelling at us. My mentor and I roll around on the floor, fucking shit up when I'm tempted to go throw Escort Bitch out the window like I did Valeria. I still don't understand how I got a 3. A 3. That mace flying in the Gamemakers' direction was an accident. They were the ones that pissed me off. Those assholes.

"Time of the month?" Prometheus asks, thinking he's so smart for a moment until I put him in his place by punching him in the throat hard as my back hits the couch.

"Get up, both of you!" Saffron yells.

"Pull that shit later and you'll definitely win," says Prometheus hoarsely whilst getting up and dusting g himself off.

"Save it for the arena," agrees Jade.

"You bitch," I reply, and storm off, but not before kicking Prometheus in the shin.

I don't know where I'm headed, but I have to be alone. I walk through a random door, and find myself where the avoxes sleep. Someone decided to paint the floor red and get an identical rug. I step on the rug after closing and locking the door behind me and red liquid is displaced by my foot . Obviously blood. That's so cool. Then I see the reason why, the blood leaking out from under the door which I didn't notice.

My sister's corpse.

Facedown in a uniform ripped at the back from a whip, which has been neatly rolled up and placed back on the rack. A long cut from one of the lashes curls up her right shoulder and wraps around her neck, evidently slitting her throat. Blood still leaks out of it and my own closes. Her wild, curly brown hair is coated in her own blood so I close her brown eyes and kiss her satiny forehead, unsure of what to do. So I sit on my knees next to her, not caring how bloodsoaked my pants will get or even if she hears me. I just whisper in her ear how sorry I am, tell her all my secrets, how it's all my fault, even the things that can't possibly be related to me. I flip her over, needing to rant about shit.

"I should be dead, not you. Not my perfect older sister." I choke, finally noticing the tear tracks down my face. Twinkle should be alive, not her sissy.

I notice something in her shirt pocket, so I look inside. Horribly intrusive of me.

It's a note, a picture of our family, and a pendant with a flame and on the back it says, 'There is no normal'.

I find out it actually is for me.

"I'm so sorry," I say, and flee the room. But not before I don the beautiful necklace and say I love you.

I literally walk into Saffron, still fucking crying. Obviously he can tell, but he doesn't say anything, which is strange but nice. I have a reputation to maintain.

I get into my room, lock the door, and my walls fall away. I find comfort in my blade, carving a memorial for my sissy on my right, and fall victim to the blissful world of sleep.

Sometimes, when something bad happens, my mind will give me a nice dream. This is not the case.

I can't tell what's going on, but after a while I'm ready to join my late older sister. It doesn't feel real yet.

Someone shakes my shoulder. I scream. Jade covers my mouth. "You were mumbling something about stars…"

"Twinkle twinkle little star," I say. I can think of something else that has to do with stars.

Came a time

When every star fall brought you to tears again

We are the very hurt you sold

"It's time to go. An hour left till the games." Jade says. Thank you, I think. I'm dull and apathetic, but at the same time slowly, very slowly dying inside .Because now I'm out for blood.

Saffron and I say goodbye to our mentors and I make sure I have the letter, picture and necklace, which I'm wearing hidden under my shirt. They already did the procedure where they make sure nothing you have can give you an advantage, so I'm currently carrying contraband.

My district partner gives me a pointed look. Asking me what the fuck is wrong with me. He won't talk. Must be nervous. We get the tracker and I apparently have to give them my left arm, so I start to panic inside. I'm forced to stare at my memorial and so does the person injecting the tracker. Saffron stares at me after noticing it and that it's still bleeding.

After half an hour, the windows black out, signaling we're close. The hovercraft stops and I smile in anticipation. Lucius leads me by my non-bloody arm to what he calls the launch room.

He gives me my clothes and I go change. Tawny-tan?- pants, a tan v neck and tan jacket. Sexy-ass combat boots. It's beautiful. I tuck the letter and photograph into the inside pocket of the jacket, still wearing the pendant under my shirt. Dammit Velvet! It's your fault she's dead!

I walk out and show Lucius how it looks. "Nice, nice," he says. "It's going to be relatively cold at night. You best pray you get a sleeping bag. If they have them,"

He sits me down and all I feel are his fingers flying through my angel blond tresses. "How is it?" he asks.

"Good." It's amazing, but I'm not admitting it. He's a genius. Fucked up on the chariots, but now I have a beautiful, delicately wrapped side bun on my right from my perspective with a small curl hanging loose on the other side. I love it.

"10." Lucius pecks both my cheeks and all I can say is thanks. You idiot, I think. At least I don't look like I was crying.

I get in the tube.

He gives me a thumbs-up.

And then I'm blinded.

"Let the Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games begin!"

The arena's a forest, with trees that have fallen leaves, and the other ones are red and brown and yellow. But mostly I focus on the cornucopia. I'll kill anyone I can, but I want to take out at least one contender and one weak-ass person like that traitor Maylin or the little kid from 8.

I'm distracted by something gleaming in the cornucopia. A set of various knives, throwing and regular, and next to it, a big-ass mace. Those are mine. That's how I'm going to win for Twinkle.

10.

I untuck the necklace.

9.

I can't wait.

8.

I'll win it for you, Twinkle.

7.

And you too Monarch.

6.

You too, Sapphire.

5.

Even my parents.

4.

This is what I live for.

3.

I cannot afford to lose.

2.

Let the Fifteenth Annual Hunger Games begin.

1.

I'm coming for you all.

0.

This is really happening.

The gong sounds.

And then all hell breaks loose.

**Cray Stone, 18 (written by Ripple237)**

**District 4 Male**

Wind whips in my face as I walk towards the Hovercraft that will take me, and 22 other kids to our death. I breathe in the air, it will probably be one of my last breathes of real air. I look at the sky as well. I'll never see it again, so I cherish it while can.

I've already decided that I will not come back from the Games. My father's heart will break, but I want Maylin to win. Things have been complicated between us ever since the Careers. I understand why, but I can't help but feel annoyed. I wish I could explain it, but that would be really awkward.

I don't know why I want to protect her really. No, I know why. She has a whole family, and a blind sister to look out for. Family is more important than anything. My Mom would say that all the time. I will get her home if my life depends on it. And it will.

Maylin stands next to me, looking very nervous. She is shaking just above the unnoticeable point.

"Maylin, I..." She cuts me off and hugs me.

"I'm sorry I avoided you after you joined the Careers. I just..."

"It's ok." I say, releasing her.

"I understand you're just trying to survive, and I'm sorry again." I open my mouth to tell her that it's the exact opposite, and I want to protect her, but no words some.

"Just promise me, that you if you see me or my allies, you will try to save us, at least in an inconspicuous way." She says.  
>"Of course, I would never hurt you." I reply.<p>

"Time to go guys!" our mentor yells at us. Maylin and I face each other.

"Good luck Cray."

"Same to you."

Maylin turns to her mentor who directs her to a hovercraft. She turns and looks at me one more time, and enters the Hovercraft.

I enter mine. The windows turn to black almost instantly as we take off. The sky is dead.

* * *

><p>I'm in a stone launch room, alone with my horrible stylist. Things couldn't get much better.<p>

After a quick shower, I put on the outfit we are assigned to wear. It's a tan jacket, with darker tanish pants, tan shirt, and tan boots.

"Hmmmm, you're not really pulling off the tan." My stylist says. I glare at her. She calls herself Hera, but that name's just as dumb as her stupid white wig, and gold lipstick. She might be worse than our escort! "Well it's probably for camouflage." She says

"Probably?" I ask.

"Ohhhh, I forgot, I have a party tonight. I can't wait." This is why I hate her. She is literally so dumb, her mind wanders around until it finds something, and when it does, the thing she finds is completely useless.

"Here's your shell thingy." she says. I snatch it from her put it on my belt. I breathe deeply in. I'm more nervous then I thought I would be.

"Tributes, 10 seconds to launch." A voice echoes around the room.

I rush into the tube with anticipation and fear.

"9." I've never been more scared.

"8." Why did this happen to me?

"7." I wish I was home...

"6." ..with Ryan and Dad

"5" I have to get out of this tube!

"4." Move legs, move!

"3." No I WILL not go.

"2." I have to though.

"1." This is it.

The tube starts to rise and I try to calm myself down. I'm going into the Games, and nothing will change that. I stele myself for the blinding sun, if there is sun. I close my eyes. I hear the plate click into place. I force my eyes open and am blinded at first.

My vision starts to clear. I take a breath.

"Here we go."'

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

My toes seep into the warm carpet as I tiptoe into Sabrina's room, a breath catching when I'm a little too loud. The nightmare of Delilah falling as Paisley - oh good god, sweet Paisley - grinned maliciously was so deeply embroiled behind my eyelids that I couldn't shake it. These past nights were filled with horrors - Hayden chewing at my mother's flesh, Stacey screaming as Raphael attacked her, Delilah begging for Sabrina's mercy - but it seemed to be the idea of the sweetest girl I knew killing my sister like friend that snapped something inside of me.

And here I was. Seeking out the one person that would probably kill me in the next four hours. Stupid. I was fucking stupid.

"Sabs," I hiss, shaking her shoulder. "Sabs wake up." My courage wells and I give a final shake before beginning to back up. I'm not quick enough in my retreat and a fist reaches out and collides with my nose. "Shit!"

"Sans? What are you doing in my room?" She's breathless, her eyes wild as they search for something I can't see.

"I had a bad dream!" My voice is even higher-pitched than usual and I cringe. If I didn't sound like a girl before, I definitely do now.

"You're not a little kid! You don't need me for your nightmares!" There is anger and fear on Sabrina's face and I realize she's scared that the someone would find out she hit me. It was illegal to scuff it up before the Games, because every drop of blood must be saved for the television.

"I certainly don't need you to go punching me! The hell?" I ask, lowering my hands from my nose and looking into the nearest mirror. There's a long purpling bruise running across it, but it's not broken. Or at least, I don't think it is.

Sabrina stares at me before the anger fades and as her eyes lower to the intricate pattern on the bedsheets. "You too?" I don't mean to ask, but she's focusing so hard on that little pattern that I know I'm not the only one.

"Yeah."

"Which District?"

"I- District 1. She was dying because I killed her and I just... look I don't want to talk about that. You?" She looks to me and I don't see the hard-faced woman who had her resolve set on going home. I see a girl who was just as scared as I was and had everything on the line just like I did. I see someone relatable.

"District 8, she was killing De." Sabrina's laugh echoes so loudly in the room that I have to slam the door shut before she woke the entire centre. That probably startles Faustinus alone. She had been extra sensitive to noise and had come running whenever a nightmare was bad for me. Maybe she didn't come because I didn't scream.

"Oh you're serious?" Sabrina asks, when she realizes I don't share her laughter. "Look... Lilac-"

"Delilah," I correct. Sabrina nods.

"Delilah will be fine. She's at home in her wheelchair probably watching the reruns of the interview and snotting into a handkerchief." I think it's more to comfort herself - because if my family was safe then so was hers - but I play along.

"Delilah doesn't watch reruns," I say, wrinkling my nose. "If she's already seen something she won't watch it another time."

"Whatever," Sabrina pauses, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before speaking. "I've seen you two around. You're always having fun, living like you're normal teenagers. It's... what's it like to be careless?" I'm offended that she takes my playfulness as careless, but am actually a bit proud that my friend and I have been seen having fun, throwing a big 'fuck you' to anyone who dare try to trample our happiness.

"It's nice, I suppose. When I'm with her the world is spinning but we're standing still. If it weren't for Delilah," I swallow hard. If it weren't for Delilah I'd have choked on my own blood in an alley and died. If it weren't for Delilah I would have no one to run to for peace of mind. If it weren't for Delilah I'd have hung myself long ago. "I wouldn't be here," I say instead. "She's saved me from so much crap that it's scary. You wouldn't believe how many boys dislike the thought of having their masculinity threatened. I owe De my sanity. I owe her everything."

"Is that what you'll do?" Sabrina asks, biting a nail. I cringe, examining my own nails. The red lacquer was still perfectly polished - I really should thank Sephora again for smuggling me the tiny vial of polish - compared to hers that had been chipped off.

"If you win, is that what you'll do? Pay for her treatment?"

"Yeah. I'll hire some shit-faced Capitol doctor to come and proclaim a miracle. Sounds like a deal. You?"

"Get my sister back in school, I guess. And Vic will have everything he's ever wanted." I smile. I didn't know her family, not at all, but I could assume they were a cute one and Vic was probably her nugget of a brother. A brother that needed her and, by the looks of it when I first saw Sabrina, needed that extra paycheck. A brother that without her would shrivel up and die. A brother that would dorms countless nights slashing his wrists because his fucking sister couldn't come home.

"Promise me something, yes?" I ask, my resolve hardening. This is something I had to do. Sabrina furrows her brow. "Promise that you'll kill me during bloodbath."

My partner startles and her hand comes up. It's not a punch this time, it's a slap. But somehow that hurts more. "I'm not killing you."

"I'd rather you than anyone else! Let's face hard facts here. If I do by some miracle make it out of that bloodbath, Hayden is going to eventually snap, and if I escape him, Raphael will too. I'm not going to murder a fucking thirteen year old, and I'm certainly not going to murder you. If you do it, if you kill me, you'd go home and I..." I what? I laugh as blood gurgles from my throat? I smile through the knife in my stomach. I fade into an unending darkness? Ha.

"I'm not doing it, Sans. You're not a friend, but you're home and I just wouldn't live with myself," I go to answer her, but the door swings open.

"Sabrina honey- oh. Well that certainly makes a lot more sense," Faustinus grins. "What are you two doing in here?" Sabrina turns bright red, but I kick into high gear.

"Oh calm down. I told you I was going to die a virgin and that's what I meant. I want to settle down, find a nice person, get married. None of that before the arena, mom, I promise."

"Not in the arena either. Final piece of advance, even if you're madly in love, no screwing in arena. It would smell too strongly of desperation. Now you, Sans, need to get to Sephora. Sabrina your stylist is waiting for you too so..." Faustinus beckons to me but I don't move.

"Promise me," I say. Sabrina doesn't reply but looks away. That's promise enough. Patting her knee, I stand and follow Faustinus to my room. Sephora is waiting, tapping her nails on my dresser. We exchange air kisses before before Faustinus clears her throat.

"Good luck, Sans. Don't do anything-"

"Stupid, I know," I smile faintly. She shakes her head.

"Don't do anything that will make be regret making you a friend. If you die on me I'll bring you back just to kill you again." We both laugh before Sephora taps her watch.

"Schedule, you two, schedule. Hurry along, let's go." I hug Faustinus one last time and as a final thought, peck her gently on the cheek. Not as a symbol of love, but because I truly will miss the only person to trade raunchy jokes with me in this whole damn city.

Sephora drags me away, and forces me into the bland tan colored outfit. I look to her sadly and she hands me a series of bracelets. "Hide them under your sleeve, it'll spice up your outfit. I'm sorry there's nothing else."

"It's alright. We go to my launch together, then?"

"Albus is taking Sabrina. It'll be be and you."

"Right. Let's go."

* * *

><p>Its sometime after the injection that I lose my sense of time. One minute I'm the hovercraft crying because there's a needle in my arm, and the next I'm crying because I'm trapped in a tiny room on my way to die.<p>

"Sans, I may biased," Sephora says, smiling. I'm not sure if she's crying for theatrics or because she actually like me but I realize that I've become a little too attached to the people that I used to fawn over in magazines. "But you are the best tribute I've had. You're the only one that appreciates my hard work and dedication."

"Stay fabulous, Seph."

"You know I will, sweetie."

"Thirty seconds until launch," A voice booms over the speakers. My hands fly to my neck where the pearl necklace is. Sephora steps away from me and I step over into the tube, which immediately falls around me. Tears streaming down my face, I press my hands against the glass. Sephora nods, and I turn around to face the concrete wall. This is it.

"Twenty seconds until launch." My my heart pounds against my ribcage and a surge of unfed adrenaline is loud in my ears.

"Ten seconds until launch." The tube slowly begins to rise and I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and counting to ten. When I open them again, my eyes were assaulted by yellows, reds and oranges. Autumn. They've created a fall replica, with crisp fallen leaves on the floor.

"Ladies and Gentlemen let the 15th Hunger Games begin!"

I spot a rock not too far from my pedestal, and decide that will be my weapon of choice. At least, until I can get to something manageable. The gong countdown hits fifty.

Looking around, I spot Paisley. She's quivering but there's a serious look of determination on her delicate features. I decide that I need to be the one to protect her. The countdown is at thirty.

I can't spot Hayden or Raphael, but I do see Sabrina. She's not looking at me, so I sigh and look to the Cornucopia. I have the misfortune of being behind it, which will delay my ability to get into the mouth. The gong is at fifteen.

Poising myself, I get ready to run. This is it. This is the moment that defines do or die. This is my life. The gong sounds. Let the games begin.


	28. The Bloodbath

**A/N (Glossy): **It's finally here. Here's the bloodbath everyone! Let's kick it off with Hayden's POV!

**Hayden Cultzealot, 16 (written by Xyncisthe)**

**District 12 Male**

The roar of the beginning of the Games echoed across the field but I still stand in my place as I watch the other tributes running haphazardly. Some had already scurried into the forest, others had already fallen and yet my eyes roved quickly over the field. That little girl is rescued by the flamboyant boy. My eyes meet Raphael for a moment before a flash pulls my attention savagely. Exella.

My heart thunders painfully and suddenly silence as if it suddenly died. Saffron Edinburgh looms over her, his sword raised high above her and a sickening metallic flash blinds me for a moment before a spatter of crimson liquid jump starts my heart again. He stabs her in the shoulder. _He stabs her in the shoulder._ It plays like a never ending recorder as I stand frozen.

_Run. Save her. Run!_ My blood roars in my ears as my arms mechanically snatch tools that lie on the ground as my feet dash towards her. _Save her._ Ruthlessly, I snatch her in my arms and sprint into the forest while my goodies bounce against my back. It was only when we were shielded by the trees that I begin to slow down and slump tiredly against a tree.

Looking at her wound, I curse and grimace. What I thought was a shoulder wound was not actually a shoulder wound. The sword managed to twist and cut her heart, perhaps when she tried to evade the killing blow or he had stumbled a little but it does not change anything. There is no way I can save her; I have no knowledge regarding the matters of the heart.

However, there is only one thing I can do. _Kill her if she means that much_, a malicious voice whisper from within the abyss of my mind, _just like you did for Mother Dearest. Can you bear to see her die a painful death? Put her out of her misery. End her suffering. _

"I..." I bow my head and whisper into her hair as I cradle her tightly yet tenderly in my arms, "...you." My hand curls around the knife and somehow it feels heavy to move my hand.

_Do it; you know she would be better off dead._

She wriggle weakly in my arms and raise her head to look at me. She looks so deathly yet her eyes continue to shine regardless; not at all like the eyes of those half dead. She is still alive. Still breathing. _Still living._ She touches my cheek lightly and a soft smile makes its way across her porcelain face. "I know Hayden," she murmurs on my lips as she runs her hand through my short hair, "I know." Her hands tentatively curl around my neck and she kisses me gently and shyly like the night before the interview.

"When you go over the other side," I mumble as I break the kiss and I frown when her image start to look blurry, "don't wait for me." I comb her hair lamely. If my eyes can no longer see her, I hope my hands will remember. It would be a crying shame and a great dishonor for her if I fail to remember the one who dares to enter my madness and dance with me. Exella Iver. I laugh bitterly; in pain and misery, you will find the real and loyal. No disguises, no pretenses; the truly worthy ones will stand and fall with you.

_Forgive me, forget me not. _

"I never really thanked you for saving me, did I?" She laugh weakly as she snuggle in my arms and I reposition her so that her head rest against my chest instead of my shoulder, "When we arrived in the Capitol for the first time, that man tried to feel me up and did you remember what you said?" She look at me amused and I blink my eyes rapidly as if it would make her face clearer but it just serve to make her even more blurry. "You said, 'She's mine; touch her and you'll be begging to die.' You don't know how happy that made me," she continues wistfully as my hand slowly uncurl around the bloody knife that I snatched earlier on, "That's the first time anyone ever cared about me... The first time anyone protected me. You made me really happy."

Did that really happen? I remember threatening a man but I doubt it was for a noble cause. I am Hayden Cultzealot, the bastard child of an insane woman, the creepy outcast of the Seam, the _Devil's spawn_! I shake my head since my voice has failed me; my throat feels constricted and I have difficulties whispering, never mind talking.

"That was the first time we kissed too," she babbles on excited as if she was a giggly lovesick girl instead of a girl who would be dying soon, "And then last night when you asked me what kind of dreams I have when I go to sleep... I dream of a fairytale and a place far away from here. I'd be a princess and I'd be in the arms of my prince. He'd hold me like you are right now." It is getting harder to breathe. My heart hurts and my lungs are heaving instead of breathing. I am suffocating. Am I dying? "That's why I hope you're the one who would kill me; I know you'll hold me until... Until I go." She twists one more time and lifts herself up. She wipes my face and especially my eyes with the soft pads of her fingertips and for a while I can see her clearly. "I'll wait for you on the other side," she whispers on my lips as she closes her eyes and rests her forehead against mine, "This isn't goodbye Hayden. I love you..."

Finally my arms move and I catch her slump form before she could slide further down my body. Exella Iver, the sacrificial lamb and the girl I kissed on many occasions. I shake my head as I hug her corpse close and release a loud bitter bark. The roar of a cannon and a long howl of a grieving man makes a melancholic melody as I continue holding her. I shut my eyes tightly and I finally acknowledge the tears that have been streaming down my face since I whisk her into the forest. It is inevitable. There is no place in the war of predators for sacrificial lambs even if she has already been marked as prey by an alpha predator. I should have known; even the natural beasts must submit to the laws of nature and that is- the preys are always hunted and killed. Yes, I should have known but...

_Forgive me, forget me not. _

I do not know how long I sit there clutching her corpse to me and letting the tears flow endlessly. A tap on my shoulder and I open my eyes to look into the eyes of Raphael Fume. Has he come to kill me? No, even when I am weakened he cannot kill me. He does not have a shred of killing intent. The berth between us is much too wide for him to close with wishful thinking and playing predator. He opens his mouth and moves it but my ears are no longer hearing. I am no longer feeling.

_Let's go Hayden._

I nod mutely as I nudge her corpse off me and rub my face of any tear trails. Getting up, I positioned her corpse as gently against the tree and ghost my fingers over her pale smile. "Forgive my weakness, but please forget me not." I stand up, collect my snatched tools and walk away without a backward glance.

Just like Mother Dearest, Exella crossed over ahead of me. Just like before, I fail to protect. I should have disposed of my biological father before he drove Mother Dearest over the edge until she had forgotten me. I should have disposed of that man before Mother Dearest began spiraling into the abyss of madness and suffered and... And I had to take upon the sinful burden of ending her suffering and misery. Just like I failed Mother Dearest, I failed Exella Iver. I should have disposed of Saffron Edinburgh during training when I had the chance and perhaps I would not have failed another.

_Weep no more, for vengeance has knocked on the door._

I feel my malicious sneer pull across my face. _The blood will sing to the blood. _If I thought I had not put any names on my list, Saffron Edinburgh has just topped that list. He will die, whether by my hand or not. He will not leave this place alive. _He will break._ I will destroy him; his heart, mind and soul. He will learn despair greater than any he has ever tasted. He will learn of defeat and..._helplessness_.

**Raphael Hume, 17 (written by Elim9)**

**District 10 Male**

_Run._

That's my first and only thought as the gong sounds and chaos ensues. My legs quickly obey, and soon the leaves are crunching beneath my feet. My fists clench tightly as my mind races, hoping. Hoping that I can get away. That no one will notice me. That no one will think I'm worth targeting.

_Breathe_.

The air fills my lungs as I heave another breath. Then another. My lungs ache, but I don't dare stop. Not yet. Not yet.

Only when my head starts to spin from the effort do I allow myself to slow down. Finally, to stop. I stumble over to a tree and lean back against it for support as I sink down onto the bed of colorful leaves. Only now – now that I'm relatively safe – do I realize I've forgotten something.

My allies.

Where are they? Surely they didn't stay. Surely the three of them hadn't been foolish enough to run _towards_ the cornucopia. But maybe they ran off in the other direction. They could be far away by now.

What if I'm alone?

Is that better? I never asked to have allies, after all. The boys from Six and Twelve – Sans and Hayden – I didn't ask to be their ally. We've never spoken. I barely know their names. And Paisley … Yes, she was kind to me. But am I really prepared to run back towards the bloodbath to try to find her?

For all I know, she's dead already.

For all I know, they all are.

_Wait. Just wait. Just think._

Maybe they'll find me. Maybe they're already looking for me. But it's a big arena. We could search for days and never find each other.

If I don't find them now, I might never have the chance.

I close my eyes, leaning back against the tree, bracing myself. Trying to decide.

Suddenly, I hear shouting. "You left them! You left them to die, Sans! They're gonna die! Sans, you have to—"

Paisley.

She's alive. And Sans, too, from the sound of it. But for how much longer? If I could hear her, surely other tributes could, as well. If they attract too much attention…

The voices are lower now. Quieter. Maybe they realized the same thing. At last, I draw a deep breath, force myself to my feet, and take a few cautious steps towards the voices.

Finally, I can see them. Both of them. Sans is cradling Paisley, who has her arms around his neck. "Shh," he says quietly, soothing her. "It's been long enough now, Blue. Go to sleep. You can take a nap. I'll wake you again when we find Hay-bear and Raphy."

_Hay-bear? Raphy? _What sort of alliance have I gotten myself into? Maybe it would be better to sneak away now…

Then the weapons catch my eye. A boomerang and a pair of hakapiks. So they did go into the bloodbath, after all. And survived. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to stay with them a little longer. For protection.

A little longer.

"Sans?" I call quietly, stepping out where he can see me.

"Raphael! Where have you been?"

_Running for my life. _"Looking for you," I lie. "How's Paisley?"

"Sleeping now, but she was hit pretty bad. Is Hayden with you?" I shake my head no. "Damn it," Sans mutters. "We can't just leave him."

_Why not? For all we know, he's dead._

"And we can't leave Paisley here," Sans adds. "Not like this. If anyone else found her, they'd kill her."

_Or assume she was dead already._

"You have to go find him," Sans insists. "Please. If Paisley wakes up and he's not here—"

"Then she'll be mad," I finish. "If I go back for Hayden now, I could be _dead_. That's worse."

Sans stares at me, shocked, and I can see that he doesn't understand. The pieces finally fall into place. There's no way Paisley made it out of the bloodbath on her own – not with that sort of wound. He went back in for her. Risked his life for her.

He simply assumed I'd be willing to do the same for Hayden.

A wave of guilt washes through me as I realize that, no, I'm _not_. I'm not ready to risk my own life for them – _any _of them. Given the choice between Hayden's life and mine, why shouldn't I choose mine?

"Take this, then," Sans offers, handing me one of his hakapiks. "To protect yourself. Please."

I hesitate. He's offering me a weapon. But, more than that, he's offering me his trust. He's trusting that, once I've left with his weapon, I'll bring it back. That _I'll _come back. With Hayden.

"Fine," I agree reluctantly. I grab the weapon and take off before I can change my mind.

This time, I don't run as quickly. This time, I'm running _towards _danger. Towards an ally who may or may not be dead by the time I get there. I finger the weapon in my hand. It certainly looks impressive – maybe even intimidating – but I know _I _don't. Now that it's come down to it, I have no idea how to use a weapon. If someone were to attack me, I wouldn't have the slightest idea of how to defend myself.

I have no idea what I'm doing.

At last, I can see the cornucopia again. What am I doing here? I could just run. Take Sans' weapon and leave, make the best of it on my own. Sans still has one of his weapons; he'd be able to defend Paisley. And Hayden … Assuming he's still alive, he can probably take care of himself. Maybe I'd be better off alone.

Just as I've decided to leave, however, something catches my eye. A small packet on the ground a few yards in front of me. I take a few steps closer. It's a pill of some sort. Someone must have dropped it. I quickly scoop it up and stuff it in one of my pockets.

That's when I see Hayden.

He's clutching a body – a girl's body. It takes me a moment to realize it belongs to his district partner. Exella, I think. His supplies are strewn around the ground. A battleaxe, a few knives, a water bottle, and what seems to be a first aid kit.

Is he dead?

He doesn't seem to be moving. I inch closer. If he _is_ dead, there's certainly no point in letting his supplies go to waste. I take a few more steps. Still, he doesn't respond. Doesn't acknowledge my presence at all.

But, just as I'm reaching for one of the knives, I can see that he's crying.

Dead people don't cry.

For a moment, I hesitate. Now that I'm this close, I can see that he doesn't seem to be injured. But he still doesn't seem to register that I'm here. He's distracted. I could…

My knuckles are white from gripping the hakapik.

He's an ally. What would Paisley think?

She's probably dying. Who cares what she thinks?

But he made it out of the bloodbath without being injured. _With_ supplies. More than Sans managed to grab. Certainly more than I've obtained.

Which means he's probably the most capable ally I've got.

Which means he's probably the most likely to kill me later.

_Later_.

So worry about that later.

I take a few steps closer. He still doesn't notice. So I tap him on the shoulder. "Hayden? Hayden, we have to go." He stares up at me, uncomprehending. "Hayden, let's _go_!"

At last, he nods, propping the body up against the tree. "Forgive my weakness, but please forget me not."

Weakness? Had he tried to save her, and been too late? Had he run after her as Sans had run after Paisley?

Both of them were willing to risk their life for someone they only met a few days ago. Someone who has to die, anyway, if they're planning on coming out of this alive.

Unless they're not planning to.

Sans risked his life for Paisley. Hayden doesn't seem to care whether he dies or not. My district partner as good as told me she volunteered because she wants to die.

Doesn't anyone else in this arena want to _live_?

**Paige Kraft, 15 (written by yellint22)**

**District 10 Female**

I'm a monster. I wanted to stop myself becoming one. I thought volunteering and walking to my death bravely would stop that. But it hasn't. All I have done is march the last person who remembers Matt for what he was to her grave, and I felt pride as I did it. The outfit they have given us rubs harshly against my skin, making me want to run from it and all this torment. I don't want to be here, I want to be at home with Matt by the fire laughing. Maybe we can reunite in heaven but who am I kidding? I'm going to hell. My only hope is to do something to redeem myself, to make me worthy of joining my brother.

As the timer winds down to zero I turn to see my competition to my left and right. I am surrounded by people my mum would much rather have as a kid. I bet they want to kill, to win these games. Even the kid to my left looks like he could easily take me. Well that's if the one judging knows I don't want to win. If I wanted to I would have him dead in an instant.

3,2,1. Go.

I jog off my podium, not much caring about the nice knives in the center. A death here would look to deliberate, I want to choose how I die, not have someone else decide it for me. My foot hits a small pack that looks like it's for carrying water, that will be good for keeping comfortable while I decide how to die, I think as I pick it up. Lightweight but strong, nice.

A spear comes flying in my direction, aiming for my side. I dodge out of the way before picking up the weapon for myself. Matt would have loved something like this but right now all I want is my beloved shotgun, but those are banned.

This will do, I don't want another weapon, especially if someone tries to kill me with it again. Carnage reigns around me as people scramble over each other, dead and alive, for the best weapons. Then I see where my spear came from. The guy who had been next ,district nine I think, to me lies on the ground, obviously having being hit by a sharp object, maybe it was his spear, maybe someone threw it at him and I caught it after it had pierced his flesh. He looks pitiful just lying there, blood seeping out of the wound staining the ground red.

"Shall I end the pain because it's not going to get better?" I ask crouching down next to him. He nods, gritting his teeth to stop a scream ripping from his throat. "Okay then, don't worry this will be quick" I explain as I guide my fingers down his neck, trying to find what I'm looking for. The thud under my fingers shows I've found it. Gently I pull my spear forward and press it into the skin, serving the artery in a swift downward motion. "There all done" I say to the already dead boy and I get up to move away. He wouldn't have made it anyway. No family should have to go through the pain of watching a family member's life slowly drain away like I did. Better it's over and done quickly.

As I turn to leave, seeing the careers are more focused on the band of hopeful allies who clearly think they can survive something they can't, I begin to walk into the surrounding forest.

Eyeing my spear menicanly a tall boy start to head over to me, it's clear he just wants my weapon but he's not having it. When he's close enough I jam it into his leg, not deep enough to do any serious damage but enough to stop him following me.

My pace quickens to a jog now. The best camping spots will go quickly and I want to get a good one. The forest is nice, the leaves gently beginning to fall around me. Sadly, the peace is interrupted by the constant stream of screams that erupt from the cornucopia. My ears wish they would just shut up. Okay maybe I'm being a bit harsh. Some of them are little children, they don't deserve to die like this but if they must try and get those good weapons they should be prepare for a bit pain. Depressingly that's the only advice of my fathers I ever used, now he going to die knowing the only thing I listened to him about made me look like a psychopath in the eyes of sponsors, well only if they can read my mind, which they can't. Of course I'm not crazy, not like that girl from one, she gives me the creeps what with her definite ''crazy eyes' as Matt would have called them. It had been hard to maintain my stance when she fixed those orbs of madness of me during training but I made it through and I was glad, now no one would think of me as the small girl they should all pity but instead as a girl who will kill them if they dare threaten my chance of seeing Matt again.

I was going to get into heaven. I was going to see Matt again. All I have to do is save lives by ending them. Careers will fall if I see them threaten a poor child like that little girl from eight. Maybe Matt will even be proud at me for saving her. Maybe one of that brave little pack can win and go skipping home to their mummies and daddies that are waiting for them.

The tiny clearing I arrive at seems nice enough. It's far away from the cornucopia and out of the way enough not to interest the careers. Yes, this is good. I take my place on the forest floor inspect my water bag. Thing's not full but has some water in, not bad. I'll have to drain the water through my socks if I want to drink it, that is if I find a water source. While I'm sat in the clearing I begin to use my spit and a tiny bit of the water to clean the blade of my spear. If there's one thing Matt taught me it's blade maintenance. You have to clean your blade. Dried blood never looks nice and blunts the blade. The cannons start going off, I count nine. It's sad really. Nine children won't be seeing their families again. Well atleast they know their fate. Everyone else's is still up for grabs.

**Sans Klein, 17 (written by TheOnlyPotato)**

**District 6 Male**

The gong sounds and I'm gone, the rock in my fist as I rush towards the entrance of the Cornucopia. I'm unfortunately positioned at the tail of it, so it takes a little longer to get to the mouth than it should. This means that when I get there, tributes are already battling it out. _Fuck. Screw me over and fuck me sideways because _**_fuck._**

Turning around the bend, I slide into the mouth and grab the hakapiks, keeping them at hand in case anyone wants to attack me. I'm lucky, I guess, that I'm not dead yet - I'm actually surprised the girl from 1 hasn't murdered any- oh never mind - but I'm not going to count my coals before they're diamonds. I'm not safe. Not yet.

I look around wildly for Paisley and spot her a couple of inches away from her pedestal, hesitating on whether to run into the bloodbath or turn away and run into the forest. After witnessing her turmoil, and as a last minute thought, I grab a boomerang and run towards her.

The girl from 11 sees an easy kill in Paisley however, and rushes to her as well. She's closer, so she gets to my tiny ally before I do, knocking her to the ground with a blow to Paisley's head._ Shit, shit, shit. Motherfucking shit these kids are driving me fucking insane._

I force my legs to go faster, and just as she's about to kill Paisley, I throw my hakapiks. I'm not that far away anymore, they should hit their target perfectly. Just as I hoped, they each land square in 11's back and send her crumbling to the ground. Looking around, I notice the boy from 11 has witnessed my move. **Fu-u-u-u-u-ck!**

I get to my friend just as she's about to lose consciousness and slap her awake. Paisley has suffered a serious hit - so badly that blood leaks from her nose - and is mostly out of it. I have to carry her. Desperately, I arrange my goodies - Paisley's boomerang, the small bottle of iodine 11 dropped, and my hakapiks - in my belt and pockets before lifting Paisley bridal style into my arms. And so, years of carrying Delilah pay off.

Before anyone else can spot us, I hurry from the clearing, running as fast as I can and into hiding. When I pause for a moment to look back, I spot Hayden dragging his bloody partner out of the bloodbath and crying. Raphael is nowhere to be found, and that makes me extremely nervous.

I'm tempted to go back to help Hayden, but Paisley begins to whine in pain and I'm forced further away from the bloodbath before someone else spots us.

I run until my legs burn and feel like they'll give out before I lay Paisley behind some bushes, using my sleeve to dab at the blood dribbling from her nose. "Blue, honey... Blue, I need you to stay awake. Don't go to sleep yet, you have to wait."

"Sans... you... I'm... dead...?"

"No, you're not dead sweetness. I killed her before she could hurt you anymore. You're not dead." Yet, my asshole subconscious adds. **Fuck off, subconscious. I'm tired of your shit.**

"You killed someone for me?" Paisley asks, her eyes fluttering closed. I slap her cheek repeatedly before holding her eyelids open with my hands. I have to keep talking to her, I have to keep her awake.

"Yup, just for you honey. Just for you. Stay awake, come on. Wait for Raphy and Hay-bear, then maybe you can go to sleep," I promise. Those two would kill me if they hear me using those secret nicknames Paisley and I shared, but I'm desperate for her to stay awake.

"Hay-bear? Raphy?" Paisley's voice is lighter with laughter, but still drooping with drowsiness.

"They're not here yet, honey." Paisley bolts up, the laughter in her eyes dying and I have to pin her to stop her struggling. At least she's awake now, I guess.

"You left them! You left them to die Sans! They're gonna die! Sans, you have to go-!" I clamp my hand over her mouth, wincing as her teeth sink into it. I need her to stay low-key until we have our two important members back into our alliance. She's not mentally with me and I won't be able to hold off a tribute if one finds us.

"Shh, Blue. Please, shh, before you get us fucking killed." Her eyes continue to scream murder, but her teeth loosen on my hand and she shuts up. "I'm going to move my hand now, but I swear on your life if you scream..."

"I'm not going to scream. Promise," she mumbles when I remove my hand, her voice hoarse from screaming. "You left them to die. I'll never forgive you if they die."

"I had to. You would have been killed," I remind her. "I'm sorry, Paisley. It was either go back for them and let you die or take you away and give them a chance to catch up. Which would you rather?" My words seem to clear up a fog in her head and she nods, laying her head back against the pillow of leaves.

"Are they together at least?" she asks quietly.

"No, I don't think so," I shake my head. My eyes flit to the blood on her forehead and I wipe it away with my thumb. Paisley hisses and I jerk away. "Sorry, honey. That looks pretty fucking bad."

"It hurts a lot," she mutters.

"Are you dizzy? Can you walk? We should move further away, Hay-" I am cut off by the loud boom of canons.

One. That's District 11.

Two. Exella, Hayden's partner.

Three. Whoever hurt Exella, probably. Hayden seemed pretty grief stricken, and I'm almost positive that he wouldn't have hurt Exella himself.

I don't know the following six canons or how they died, but by bet is that every single one of them is from psycho bitch from District 1. I really hope she's dead actually, she was really starting to freak me out. I also hope that none of them are Hayden or Raphael. Paisley would go bat shit crazy if she found out they died.

"Nine people are dead Sans," Paisley whispers when I adjust her into my lap. She presses her ear to my chest and wraps her arms around my neck, and I hug her to me closely. Poor baby, she really doesn't belong in an arena. "Nine people who never did anything to deserve to die ever are dead so that we live to see another day. I don't even know how to comprehend-" I sigh, placing my index finger to my lips. Paisley nods.

"Shh, it's been long enough now, Blue. You can take a nap, I'll wake you again when we find Hay-bear and Raphy." She nods again, snuggling close to me and closing her eyes. It doesn't take long for her to drift off, her breathing becoming steady and level. I pet her hair soothingly, staring at the leaves falling from the trees. They shouldn't have used such a beautiful place for such a disgusting event.

"Sans?"

I can't seem to repress my sigh of relief at hearing his voice.

**Sabrina Partridge, 16 (written by RowlingTribute91)**

**District 6 Female**

Oh God. I can't believe it's here. The countdown is finishing up, while I take a good look at the Cornucopia. A staff rack lies to the right side. Like the Gamemakers knew I'd want it. We're surrounded by forest; and I map out a route for me to escape quickly. Backpacks are strewn all over. If I keep up my speed, I can probably grab one. Maybe I'll come back later to see what's left.

Concentrate, I think to myself.

10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1.

I jump off the podium and sprint for my life. Crap, I've never run this fast. My lungs are on fire. I race towards a jacket and a tomahawk. Extra protection. But somehow, I avoid other tributes. I must be faster than I thought I was.

Blades are clashing. People are screaming. Fighting. Dying. My heart pounds, wondering if Sans has entered the mix. Yet I dare not look behind me. I promised him that I'd try to get home and tell Delilah he's sorry (His… friend? Girlfriend? Sometimes you can't be sure). As though the Hunger Games are his fault.

Run, run, run. Just run.

I don't stop for what feels like miles. But once I come across a pond, I decide to rest and get some water. Good to find that my backpack has a water bottle and iodine tablets. I've also got a rope, matches, a pocketknife, a blanket, and a box of crackers. Score! As I wait for the water to purify, I set off again. You can't get too familiar with this arena. Besides, I need somewhere to hide.

Then the cannons erupt. Nine in all. So now, fifteen of us are still kicking. They could be looking for me already. Should I climb a tree? Conceal myself in the bushes?

I choose the second option; and the enormous bushes I choose give plenty of coverage. Temporarily, of course. I only plan on staying here for a couple hours. Finally, I drink from the water bottle. Day one's halfway complete.

That wasn't so bad, I think.

**Valeria Sterling, 18 (written by Priestess of Groove)**

**District 2 Female**

The sun blinded me as he we popped out of the grounds to our platforms and I was dazzled, both by the sun and the vivid array of color in the leaves in front of me. I have never seen anything like it! The trees in District 2 didn't really change color at all and I was startled by how beautiful it was. The wind whipped my braid around and I shivered at the chill in the air. I already missed the warm summer sun.

_No! Focus! Once the minute is up, you have the job to stay alive!_ I refocused on the glinting gold of the Cornucopia and quickly made a compilation of the supplies that I could see. Several backpacks, gray spheres that were lying on the ground, and an assortment of weapons lying around the crates of food that the Careers would no doubt secure. But the first thing I wanted was a weapon!

I had an instant to decide what to go for. What would be better in this situation? We were going to be in close quarters, so I decided to focus on the knives and wait to get my spear later. I adjust my feet to my destination and got ready.

_Ten._

_Nine._

_Eight._

_Seven._

_This is it, _ I told myself and shivered in fear. I was a little concerned that I would be shaking so badly that I'd fall straight off the platform and set the mines up and that would be a disappointing way to end the games, before it even began.

_Six._

_Five._

_Four._

_Three._

_Two._

_One._

The very instant the gong struck I rabbited off my platform and bounded through the leaves and the grass toward my goal. I was alarmed at how sluggish my legs felt, as if they weighed a hundred pounds each. I pushed myself to run faster and before I knew it was practically on top of the knives and I snatched them up. I turned abruptly and I fell onto a crate as my leg was taken out from under me. I found my feet and noticed that I had stepped into the strap of a backpack and when another Tribute tried to take the bag, it caught on my leg.

I had just one look of the fear in her eyes before I realized I had struck. Warm, sticky blood covered my hand and I yanked the knife out, almost in shock. I had reacted before I realized it and the girl was clutching her side in, which was pouring blood. She was too injured to leave; I'd be back for her.

I wanted to whittle the numbers down. The fewer competitors, the higher my chances would be of being the last one standing.

"Saffron! Saffron help me!" I looked for the cry of distress and stared at Velvet as she clutched her head.

_She is already in trouble?!_ _No wonder she got a 3 in training, _I thought and rolled my eyes only to spot that blonde git actually run after her attacker. _What an idiot! _Winning the games was going to be a cake walk with idiots like these. One career couldn't keep herself safe and the other couldn't resist being her hero? _Saffron might come in handy_, I thought with a devious smile.

Then another girl caught my eye. One from District 3 or 4. Definitely not a career. She was helping herself to another pack and then her eye caught something and she darted deeper into the Cornucopia. Big mistake. I was there to meet her and I lashed out like a viper, slashing her throat. Her beautiful white skin was suddenly spattered with blood and she clutched at her throat to no avail.

I forced myself to turn away from her and towards the rest of the bloodbath, but the other outlying Tributes were already dashing away with what few supplies they had managed to steal from us. I glanced around the blood spattered field and tried to hide my nausea by counting the victims.

6…7…8…

And then the girl from District 7 would be the 9th. I walked back over to her and she stared up at me with tears dribbling down her cheeks. She understood and closed her eyes.

So I ended her with a slit to her throat, the only sure way I know and turned away with my eye closed. I was surprised at how…_easy_ it had been to kill. But it had only been _easy _because of the training I had received. Thanks to the training, I hadn't hesitated, but my heart had nearly frozen at the fear. Killing people was a thousand times removed from killing dummies and I wished desperately to take it all back, but it was too late. I already had blood on my hands. Literally.

I picked up a nearby cloth and tried to wipe my hands on it, but the blood had already dried. I needed to find a waterhole to wash this off. I walked over to the supplies and started to evaluate. I noticed the backpack that had originally caught on my leg and I picked it up, rifling through it. There wasn't much available: Iodine, some matches, and a canteen. Basic essentials.

I pulled the pack around my shoulders. Sure, I was a career, but I had already seen a Hunger Games or two where the Careers lost their food supply and rarely did they ever win those matches. No, the risk was too high for someone to sabotage the food. I calculated that my chances would be improved if I carried a small pack with the basics to ensure my survival. The odds would favor me that way.

The spears then caught my attention and I headed towards them. There were more than enough to satisfy me, but they were all of differing lengths and even make. Now that the other Tributes had fled, I could try them at my leisure and I did not hurry. I went through, testing it out in my grip, pretending to get ready for a throw. Too light, too light, way too heavy, aha! This was the one. I had no trouble gripping it and it balanced perfectly in my hands, for my height and strength. Yes, I should be able to do enough damage with this.

I walked over to where the other careers were starting to come together and I asked, "How does it look?"

**Gabriel 'Gabe' Newman, 17 (written by Grand Coconut)**

**District 8 Male**

I close my eyes as the tube door closes shut. It seals out all other noises and the only thing I can hear now is the sound of my breath as it comes out in forced, deep intervals. I close my eyes in an attempt to relax, but my heart is still beating wildly inside of my chest.

Don't panic, I command myself. Calm down!

I shouldn't be nervous. I have no reason to be. Last night, me and Casker came up with a great plan for the bloodbath. It's one that will more than likely ensure our survival in the arena. The plan is for me to run into the cornucopia and get his blowgun and darts and whatever weapons I can get my hands on for myself, while he gathers backpacks and supplies from the outskirts.

That way, we will have both supplies and weapons. We'll be stacked.

The only problem is that I'm the one going into the cornucopia. Casker said there was no way he would do it, so I just decided that I would. I have always been a risk taker, but this time it just might end up killing me. I think I'm a bit too courageous. Almost stupidly so.

It's a risk I have to take though. We can't go into the arena without weapons.

My eyes are still closed when the plate begins to rise into the arena. It buzzes under my feet and I try to regain a steady breathing pattern.

This is it.

This is really happening.

The tube pushes me out into the open and I can feel the plate click into place underneath me. I shudder as I feel the air change and a breeze brushes past my neck. It's mild and a bit chilly.

I carefully open my eyes and blink as my vision comes back.

Autumn trees. That's the first thing I see. Red, orange, and brown leaves in large clusters across the arena. It looks like it goes on for miles. Some leaves fall from the trees and onto the damp earth below. In the distance, I see outlines of mountains underneath a clear blue sky.

It's beautiful. It's breathtaking. It will probably be where I die.

As I come to my senses, I hear a monotone voice, devoid of all human emotion, counting down.

Forty-Nine…

Forty-Eight…

Forty-Seven…

I look ahead and see that I have been placed right in front of the cornucopia.

Oh thank god, I breathe a sigh of relief. I think I might be the tribute most conveniently placed to it's mouth. It's almost as if the gamemakers knew. The careers must be green with jealousy right now.

After a second, my eyes land on the blowgun and darts package right inside the cornucopia and I see that it is sitting right next to what appears to be a quarterstaff. I guess that will be my weapon.

Next to the quarterstaff, though, are a few small grey spherical objects, just laying on the ground.

I'm not sure what those are, but if I have time, I guess I'll pick them up too. The more weapons I get, the better.

Twenty-Seven…

Twenty-Six…

Twenty-Two…

Twenty-One…

I crane my head, looking for Casker, but I can't seem to find him anywhere on my left. I just barely catch a glance at him because he's nearly thirty feet away. Too far away. Gosh, he's probably seven or eight plates down from me.

After a moment, I finally catch his eye and I nod to the area behind him and hope he knows what I mean. Behind him is a thick area of the forest that looks good for concealment and that's where I wanna go. It's our best bet.

Thirteen…

Twelve…

Eleven…

I steady my feet on my plate, ready to run.

Nine…

Eight…

Seven…

I focus in on the weapons I need.

Five…

Four…

Three…

I take one last deep breath.

Two…

One…

The gong sounds and almost instantly, it's carnage. I jump off my plate and begin to make a break for the cornucopia, but I stop cold in my tracks. Wait! All five of the careers are making a beeline for the cornucopia as well. If I run in now, I'll be dead in a second.

I quickly decide to wait until they're out of the way until I go for it. I watch as one by one, they go in and come out with weapons in hand. The massacre begins moments after and the first tribute falls. Soon, it looks like four of them are busy with other tributes and that's good enough for me. In a dead sprint, I bolt for the cornucopia.

I'm crazy! Oh god, I'm absolutely mad! I think I'm the only outer district tribute going for the cornucopia!

As soon as I'm within arm's reach of the weapons, I yank the blowgun pack from the ground and heave the quarter staff into my grasp. I quickly remember about the grey spheres to my left and pick up a few of them too. Upon closer examination, I realize that they aren't just spheres. They appear to be... smoke bombs.

These might come in handy, I think to myself as I shove a few in my pockets.

I make the mistake of looking into the back of the cornucopia and I'm almost immediately flooded with feelings of temptation and greed. I have a sudden urge to dart back there and grab a few swords and knives of the rack before I leave, but I decide not to. I already have three different weapons and I've been in here long enough already.

No more time! Go, go, go!

I begin to sprint out of the cornucopia when the whoosh of a mace comes from nowhere and makes me jump. Instinctively, I leap out of the way and watch it lodge itself into the inside of the cornucopia instead of my skull. Adrenaline spikes my heart rate through the roof as that deranged blonde career from One, the one that broke her sword in training, enters the mouth and sees that she hasn't killed me yet.

With a wild scream, she lunges for me, pulling a sword out from behind her.

The sword is already coated in a layer of blood.

Someone else's blood.

She's killed already!

She slashes her sword my way, but I dodge her attack again, only not completely. A sharp, and very precise pain cuts through my upper arm, making me gasp for air and stumble backwards.

I think she cut me.

Ignoring my screaming arm, I feel myself go into survival mode. I have to get out of here! She is laughing wildly now and going back for round two, but I have no more time. With a mighty heave, I swing the quarterstaff her way and it hits her in the stomach, making her stumble backwards. My eyes grow wide and I grasp my staff tighter. I think I just injured a career! I see her recovering quickly though and with another mighty swing, I smack her again, only this time upside the head.

She falls into the cornucopia, still alive, but pretty banged up.

I am about to take a third swing and finish her off when she suddenly opens her mouth and calls out the name of another career. "Saffron! Saffron help me!" She bellows in pain.

My blood runs cold as she calls out for the help of another career. That means someone's bound to come running over here.

After a few long moments, a voice responds. "Velvet? Velvet where are you!" Saffron calls out. By the sound of his approaching voice, I have a horrible feeling he's coming towards the cornucopia.

That's enough motive for me to leave though.

I dash out of the cornucopia and swing around the right side, where I told Casker to wait for me.

I don't even have to look for him, he's straight ahead in the entrance of the forest. He's holding a backpack and a few other supplies in his arms. His eyes are wide in surprise too, probably shocked that I actually pulled it off.

I quickly realize though, that's not the reason his eyes are so wide.

From behind me, I hear a battle cry and the sound of quick paced footsteps coming after me.

I whip my head around and see the blonde aristocrat boy from One on my trail, twin swords clutched tightly in his hands. From the focused look in his eyes, I realize that I am most definitely his target. There is no mistaking it.

I pick up my speed and begin to panic as I try to think of a way to get rid of him. I don't think I can outrun him for much longer, so it won't be easy to lose him. If I get close enough to hit him with the quarterstaff, he could easily stab me, and I don't have time to open up the package of blow darts... I don't have anything to use! I don't h-

Wait! The smoke bombs!

As the thought comes to mind, I immediately yank one out of my pants pocket without a second thought and fumble it in my hands, trying to figure out how to activate the damn thing. I flip it over and see a small red button with the words "three seconds" above it in black letters.

I don't think. I just throw it.

The rest happens too quickly for me to even register what I just did. After a moment, I hear a noise, similar to one of a steaming tea pot and then I hear a bursting sound a few yards behind me.

I look back to see smoke.

Thick, hot smoke.

The entire right side of the cornucopia seems to be covered in the heavy white fog. I don't see the boy from One anymore, which is good, but the smoke is also hot on my heels, threatening to get in my way of vision.

I run as fast as I can to get out of the cornucopia clearing and feel the blowgun and the box of blowdarts digging into my arm as I dash by. A few other tributes are panicking to find supplies, but I ignore them. The only thing I care about right now is grabbing Casker and making it into the forest.

Finally, I'm within a few meters of my ally, but I don't slow down as I reach him.

"Dude, your shoulder!" Casker gasps with wide eyes as he sees my injury.

"Not now!" I yell, warm blood dripping down my arm. "Run! Just run!"

**Casker Drummond, 16 (written by Glossy-12)**

**District 3 Male**

I can handle this.

All I have to do is survive. Sure, the other tributes are well trained, but I'm not horrible. I got a five in training and that wasn't the worst score by far. The only tributes who got nines are Saffron and Valeria so I'll make sure to steer clear of them.

The arena is a true wonder. It's a forest in autumn, but that's only a guess from me. District 3 is too urban to really know what a forest looks like in the fall. I'm placed between the boys from 5 and 10 who got low scores in training. I'd be surprised if they even went into the bloodbath. Gabe is too my left about seven or eight spaces, but I can't tell for sure. He's between the girl from 10 and 6, but he should be fine.

Our plan is simple, he gets the weapons for us, and I get survival stuff. It works well that way because I only have to go into the outskirts of the bloodbath and I should be able to avoid conflict.

The gong sounds and everyone rushes forward. I don't even know what I am looking for and I just stumble around before I see a small pile of gear. It's got duct tape, a compass, and a knife. Not the most practical assortment of things, but they'll have to do. Afterall, I might be able to make a trap if I have the duct tape and knife.

My feet start running towards the pile and I have the duct tape and compass in my pocket within seconds. I brandish the knife, but I don't really know what I plan to do with it. I've never used a knife, so I'll just have to assume where to poke it.

I spin around making sure no tribute is coming up behind me before searching for Gabe. He's right in the center of the action and has a ton of stuff. It looks like a staff, a blowgun, and some weird sphere thing.

I see Velvet, the psycho from 1, coming at him from an angle and I watch, pertrified. Her mace comes flying down at him, but he sees it at the last second and jumps out of the way. She pulls out a sword and then I feel it. Fleur, my own partner, just pushed me down. I lie on the ground with the wind knocked out of me for a few seconds as feet scatter above me. I see a career run past, but they don't stop to finish me. They must think I'm dead. I wait until there are no tributes by me and then I stand up, ready to sprint for the forest.

Seemingly out of nowhere, smoke starts to rise from the ground. Did a tribute cause it, or did the gamemakers want to spice up the bloodbath?

I see Gabe with weapons under his arms as he sprints up to me. There is a large gash bleeding on his arm, but it doesn't look fatal.

"Dude, your shoulder," I say looking at his bloody arm.

"Not now!" He yells, warm blood dripping down his arm. "Run! Just run!"

I can't handle this.

**Maylin Coasta, 18 (written by EbunnyLove)**

**District 4 Female**

I look down at my outfit for the arena. Pants and a jacket in a tan color and made of tough durable fabrics; so different that the loose, easy clothes we wear back home in District 4. In less than 5 minutes I will be in the arena. I could be dead so quickly up there. I shudder at the thought of my lifeless body lying there as others fight and kill around me. I hope I don't have to kill anyone during the bloodbath. I just want out of there, allies by my side.

My stylist motions me up to the podium that will lift me into the arena. I give him a smile and quiet, "Thank you," for all the work he's done. As I am raised up I allow myself to think of my sister one last time. When the light hits my face, however I know that it's time to think of myself.

"Ladies and Gentlemen let the Fifteenth Hunger Games begin!"

As soon as my eyes adjust to the light I take a look around. I am on the edge of the tributes. I can just spot the figure I believe to be Milo and the very end on the other side. I huff quietly to myself figuring it's just my luck that my ally would be far away from me. Arlette is close to the middle and I shudder inwardly thinking of how close she is to the cold blooded killers like Velvet. I can't think of how to safely extract her now though. I'll have to see how the fighting unfolds. Hopefully she is smart enough to make a break for the woods or other open areas knowing I would come after her. There is a bright spot though. She's standing right next to Cray-and I know he won't kill her.

I glance around my feel seeing what supplies are nearby. You never truly know what you need in the arena. Or what could save your life. I spot a pair of warm looking pants that I hope I can snag before the others. I spot other useful things as well. I don't have the time or brute strength to rush in for the good stuff at the mouth of the Cornucopia.

10  
>9<br>8  
>7<p>

I zero in on what I want. When the gong rings I have no hesitation. Since I'm on the end I grab things directly in front of me or to the left of where I was standing. Blair who was next to me ignores me and rushes off in another direction. I snatch up the pants along with a roll of duct tape and a small brass compass and a tiny empty bag to shove everything in. When I look up I see a silver trident perched on top of a sleeping roll. I rush for it-knowing it could be my savior if I get it. The only other person here that could truly handle it well besides me is Cray and he isn't around to get it.

I see Milo grab two objects off the ground before running to the trees. He glances in my direction and we make brief eye contact. He knows I will find him. My main concern is Arlette. I whirl around looking for her small frame. My breath catches when I see her struggling against Velvet who is on top of her. I rush over in that direction dogging the few tributes I pass.

That is until I feel someone yank my hair from behind. I turn and see Lucas. I don't give him time to get his weapon near my face. I spin away slightly and bring my trident down into his chest. He doesn't rise again and I turn back towards Arlette. Velvet is no longer near her and her figure is lying to still on the ground. A faint pang ripples through my stomach.

You failed her, a quiet, snide voice says in my head. You failed and you already have blood on your hands. I break out in a run for the forest, doing my best to shelf my doubts and negativity until later. I plow into the trees.

"Maylin!"

The voice isn't much above a whisper but I hear it all the same. I turn and Milo is there, mostly hidden in the dense shrubbery. I motion to him and we are quickly off running for another 15 minutes until we both need a minute. He shows me what he got from the Bloodbath- and small dagger and a water bottle he's clipped to his belt.

"Arlette?" he asks. I glance at his face. He looks resolved to hear the worst.

"Velvet got her before I did." He closes his eyes and nods. We allow ourselves another few minutes of rest after my bad news. When we get up we go for most of the rest of the day and finally decide on camp near the base of a densely wooded hill.

I tell Milo that I'll take the first watch and he quickly drifts off leaving me with my thoughts. I keep seeing my trident driving itself into Lucas' chest. I see Arlette's prone body on the ground. I can't believe I couldn't even keep her alive a day. I glance over at Milo. How long could I keep him alive and breathing? Looking up the stars I wonder just how much more I can take before I reach my limit. I'm not an evil, murderous person. I shake my head thinking of just how quickly I'd taken Lucas' life. There was no hesitation there. I spend the rest of my shift thinking that maybe, just maybe, I'm not who I thought I was.

And that terrifies me.

**Velvet Luxe, 18 (written by TillTheLoveRunsOut)**

**District 1 Female**

By the time I step off my platform, I'm already a foot away from it. Alright, I jumped.

But that's because the first kill needs to be mine. These are my games. I will reign victorious.

I notice the little kid from 5-the little little kid- and smirk. Once she notices me she screeches and tries to run away. "Milo!" So that's what his name is. "Maylin! Please don't hurt me! I'll do anything you say!" Pathetic. I start cackling so hard I actually might choke on simply air and everyone within earshot-so, everyone fucking here- swiftly turns their heads toward us as I saunter towards her while she screams bloody murder. No shit, Sherlock.

"Arlie!" I hear her brunette district partner shout. Who the fuck names their kid Arlie? I slide my thumb across my throat using lots of pressure and she blanches. I grin maniacally and think, I want blood dripping from my mouth, staining my teeth, running down my throat by the end of this. She screams and starts scrambling backwards on all fours as I hiss/growl as menacingly as possible, "You're… dead."

Arlie attempts to get up as Milo calls,"Arlette!" again. Okay, her name is Arlette, not Arlie.

I pull her up by her plum red collar and find her to be extremely light. Damn, I wish I was that light, I think, remembering a couple days ago when I got on a scale in my bathroom and damn near killed myself inside after discovering 130 as my rather static weight.

Throwing her headfirst into the cornucopia like a ragdoll, she hits the middle of her forehead and falls backwards with a small scream escaping her perfect lips. Well, not at all perfect, when I'm done with her. I laugh as her eyes widen in fear when I walk over to her and push my sleeves up, unintentionally exposing my bloody cursive hand. That will be the coolest scar ever, besides a pentagram or the heart scar I already have on the curve of my wrist. Surprisingly, I have no idea how I got it.

Arlette quizzically stares at the blood and cuts as I slam my fist into her mouth. She gives a loud screech and tears form in her eyes while her teeth cut the inside of her lips, letting blood drip onto them and down her chin. She tries to kick me, but I slam a booted foot into her chest and the other into her side. Arlette gets one weak slap on my arm, and then I attempt to claw her eyes out with my long nails, but she decides to try slipping out from under me, and I punch her in the nose. Blood flows out and her tears threaten to spill over, so I laugh even more. She does though, and I get up too from my sitting-on-her position.

I punch Arlette hard in the jaw, and that's when she presses one hand to her face and starts to cry. I smirk as she backs away, but I catch up to her easily and somehow give her a cut on her eyebrow through a blow. Blood fills her eye and she stumbles backwards , her depth perception obviously screwed up. I hook a foot around one of her ankles and she falls into me, her light brown hair flying into me as I easily kick her in the head. She bends over a bit as I push her off of me, still recovering from bloody eyes and headshots. I roll off of her back and claw her with one of my nails, cutting a streak in her tear tracks. By the time she's standing again, I notice determination in her eyes that wasn't there before. Does she really think she can win? I scoff.

Arlette kicks me softly in the back, and I lurch forward, turning, and grab her arm so she can't slip away. I twist it until I hear the crack of bone and she screams in my ear as a new wave of tears falls down her cheeks. I look at her arm, taking in the blood gushing from it and the bone fragment emerging from her skin.

I slam my forehead into the base of her nose and her head moves backwards. It's easy, considering that I've got almost a foot on her and punch her again, a bruise already starting to form. She tries to take one of my eyes out with her nails, but I slap her hand away and roundhouse kick her (Twinkle taught me how) and she hits her head on the side of the cornucopia, bloodstaining it and landing her on the ground for the third time.

"When shit hits the fan…" I say condescendingly with a shake of my head.

I punch her at the base of the nose one last time, knocking her out and effectively killing her.

My first kill of the games.

It feels so good. It's like, 'You there Murder! You sexy son of a bitch, welcome back! We've been looking for you since Velvet killed Gleam!'

Ohhhhhhhhhh fuck. My necklace is still on my platform, glimmering in the light.

I dash over there, stuff it in my pocket and zip it up because I don't know what I would do if I lost it.

Then in barely six seconds I'm to the cornucopia where Sans is killing someone and carrot top is trying to run away with something-a backpack, I think- . I swiftly snatch my throwing knives, which are in a vest, and put it on. I open it up and throw one at her leg and she screams, falling to the grass. We wrestle for a bit and I end up on top of her like I was with 5.

"Ace!" she yells. Awe, come on. I kind of liked Ace. But not like that.

"I can't help you, I'm in the middle of something! Just cut her eyes out!" What is the fascination with people causing my eyelessness? Do I really look that horrible with eyes? Of course you do, Velvet, I tell myself. I look horrible in general.

Red hair strewn out across the ground, I reopen my vest, take out a delicate knife, and stab Carrot Top in the stomach with it as she screams in pain. "Ace! Help me!" she begs."Please, let me live! We never have to cross paths again!" I start laughing again.

Taking out a serrated knife this time, I stick that one into her gut as well. But I don't stop there. I twist it, and then drag it upwards as she yells even louder. "Mercy!" she cries. "Oh my god, please!"

Her face pales as I stab her in the hip with yet another knife, this time a camping knife, and come up with a poem, reciting it in a whisper tone.

Death cascading from my fingertips

Color fading from her lips

"What?" she asks.

"I'm coming up with a poem," I say brusquely. "Can't a girl think?"

"Do you even want to be here?" she whispers.

"I volun-fucking-teered. This is what I want in life," I reply, pulling all the knives out as she whimpers.

"You're a horrible person,"

"Look Carrot Top, I'm not a perfect cheerleader like you, but it's not my fault. You're gonna be the one with your body being shipped back to your boyfriend in what district? 10? At least I can kill," I know she's from 9, but I'm just trying to piss her off.

"District 9," she corrects in a hoarse whisper. "I may not be a killer, but I'm intuitive."

"Yeah, and that's why you knew to run away," I smirk. "I must be breaking your boyfriend's heart, Carrot Top,"

"It's Talia," she says with her dying breath.

I lace the knives in between my fingers and for good measure, I slit her throat.

At first only a thin line of red appears, but then blood starts to gush out like when I cut deep, and it looks like she got clawed by an animal. In a way, she did. I'm not human like everybody else. I'm something else.

I lick the knives and Sans recoils in disgust. Looks like my plan worked.

And then Talia's cannon fires.

"I have to say, I admired your spirit." I tell her corpse.

OH GOD WHAT THE FUCKING SHIT! That's nasty! I just licked what I stabbed her with! Oh motherfucker!

Because the others will be mad at me if I come empty-handed, I run in and grab a backpack just as Ace falls dead to Paige's hands.

Dammit! He was the coolest person here! You can't mourn your enemies, Velvet. Victors don't do it, I tell myself.

That blond bastard from 8-no offense to blondes- rolls up with a quarterstaff and we fight for a while, him smacking me in the head and bolting. Literal hit and run, that douche.

The combination of blood loss and being hit in the face with a glorified stick does not bode well for me because it leaves me horribly dizzy, but I run anyway.

Once I reach my comrades, I throw them the backpack after pushing down my sleeves to hide my still-bleeding arms, and they say, "Night vision glasses and bandages. Not your best haul. Who'd you kill?"

"9 and 5," I curtly respond. At least I have blood on my teeth.

**Milo Thetras, 14 (written by Starry Infinities)**

**District 5 Male**

The podiums are set out like semi circles, and I am at the edge. There are many advantages of my fortunate location to say the least. My original plan was to simply dart into the surrounding forest, a forest of beautiful amber falling leaves. That had now changed.

I stand, barely able to move, staring at the stack of supplies in the open mouth of the cornucopia. Those aren't what I am aiming for. Instead I look to the side of the cornucopia closest to me. I am fast, easily able to dart in, grab something off the rack without heading into the middle of the battle. Ideally, because of both my situation and one of my few skills being running, this boy who scored a two in training could get away. Maybe I am worth more than the Capitol first thought.

I glance around, looking for Arlette and Maylin. A quick scan of the line of tributes makes sure I find them. Maylin was opposite me, at the left hand edge of the semi circle. Arlette is four places to her right. The are signalling to each other, I need to tell them my idea as well.

I gained Maylin's eye contact, the two of us were almost rivals to lead this alliance, but she still needed to know my plan. I placed my hand on my chest, then nodded to the mouth of the cornucopia as the final seconds were displayed on the clock. Maylin shook her head, then pointed at the supplies closest to her. I nodded. She didn't want me to go into the bloodbath, but our alliance would have no weapons if neither of us head close to the centre of the fight, as Arlette will stand even less chance than I.

I have to be prepared to take risks if I wanted to hold onto my life.

"Let the games begin," a voice suddenly announces, I have been too busy planning to realise the annual child murdering competition has started.

After a jump, a few seconds lost, I risk my life for a dash into the bloodbath, that is no exaggeration. Often half the tributes lose their lives.

I leap to the ground, sprinting toward the brown back pack before me. It is a little closer to the dreaded cornucopia than I would have liked, perched on a rack a few metres from the mouth of the cornucopia, slightly behind the opening. At least it isn't at the centre of the bloodbath, giving me a chance to flee. I am one if the first in, the only others try to grab a weapon, giving me a chance to crouch down, stealing the bag from the bottom shelf.

I hear a cannon. I jump. It doesn't even cross my mind that it may be Arlette or Maylin's. I am in too much fear of my own life.

I slip the backpack onto my back, unaware of what is inside, hoping it isn't a bomb and start tearing away from the majority of the tributes, running to their death in the bloodbath.

I heard the canon fire, again, it makes me jump, I clumsily trip as if try to sprint into the forest of red, orange, yellow and brown. I try to regain my pace, but I can't, I heard the cannon, and I half expect my own to be next. I know the death of an innocent child like myself has taken place. I just have to make it into the deeper into woods, I have to get away from here. I can't die already. I can't die at all.

I started to feel myself fatigue, my muscles ached when I slowed, the taste of blood in my mouth as I had sprinted faster than ever before. I must have been have been about half a mile from the cornucopia, now making my chances of finding Maylin or Arlette slim, but possible. I gazed at the thick, golden wood. I looked around, seeing what was nearby, not a tribute in sight, but screams from the bloodbath still rang in my ears.

Another cannon fired.

There had already been three, and we couldn't have been more than five minutes into the games. There were lots of trees, some completely bare of their leaves, others still covered in generous layers of red, amber, brown and yellow leaves. I decide my best bet on survival is to climb one of the more covered trees, then hopefully nobody would see me throughout the time I would wait for the battle to die down, for the tributes to disperse throughout the arena.

I placed my foot in a hollow in the tree, pushing myself up to grab a branch. My hands easily found grooves to catch a hold of in the heavily featured thick trunk. Then I grab the beach to my left, wrapping both arms around the branch, heaving myself into the leaves. No one will see me unless they looked, but I can easily spot someone approaching. It is ideal.

I hear someone approaching, alone, with some slow trudging footsteps. The leaves cracking, branches snapping as they come nearer to the spot I hide in. Scared to breath, I glance down.

Seemingly luck is on my side.

The girl looks lost, so I call out, "Maylin," in a hushed tone.

No response, she continues to walk, I jump down from the branch, briefly loosing balance.

"Maylin," I call again.

She turns to face me, startled. "Milo, you're alive," my ally replies, a look of relief flooding on to her friendly face. I feel the same way, someone who now has my back.

"And Arlette?" I ask, biting my lip, desperately hoping she didn't go into the bloodbath. I prepare for the worst answer.

"Velvet," Maypin tells me, looking down to her feet, trying to avoid eye contact. I hear her tear hit the ground, like a gentle pat as she tells me, "got to her before I did."

I want to cry, but that would mean I admitted that maybe my district partner had been more of a friend than an ally. We had talked every night, and I liked her. I never wanted to admit to such.

"We better leave, I suggest we head to the hill, maybe set up camp around the base," I respond, trying to block my emotions and concentrate on the most practical choice. I turn to face the hill, growing at a small incline, before it became fairly steep. We begin to move.

"We want to get away from the careers, look over our supplies," Maylin tells me. "I saw what they did to Arlette, and neither of us want to end up the same way."

I nod, as we begin our walk, maximum of a mile towards the hill.

"Here looks good," Maylin says, spotting a small clearing in the woods, a river running alongside.

"Agreed," I say, nodding, "We should build a shelter, even just at the edge of the forest. We'll hide from the careers then."

I walk to a fallen down tree, "we'll just put lots of branches, twigs, fallen leaves and lay them at an angle. It just has to be enough to accommodate one of us to sleep under, both to squeeze into incase we are attacked," I tell Maylin.

"And one of us has to take watch while the other sleeps?" She asks, knowing the answer.

"Assuming we trust each other," I say, a challenging look in my eyes.

"I'll take first watch," she says, turning away to begin collecting supplies for our shelter.

As suspicious as it seems I somehow find myself trusting Maylin Coasta.

**Saffron Edinburgh, 17 (written by Dame Selena)**

**District 1 Male**

I keep my eyes closed until I can feel the metal plate pushing me out of the cylinder into the open air. After spending four days enclosed by four walls I look forward to embracing nature once more. I'm conscious of a strong wind blowing against my face, strangely it reminds me of home. The air, it is enticingly fresh and the earthy fragrance of grass is almost overwhelming. I slowly open my eyes.

It is magnificent.

A scenic autumn forest, leaves of dazzling shades of red and gold are blown by the wind, swirling across my eyes and for a moment I am spell-bound by its beauty.

All of a sudden, the wind disappears and the leaves fall to the floor. Around me are my competitors. In front of me is the Cornucopia.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let the Fifteenth Hunger Games begin!"

Sixty seconds. That's how long I have to assess and strategize. To my left are a couple of girls from the outer districts. To my right, my allies Cray and Lucas are two pedestals away. Near the mouth of the Cornucopia lay basic weapons such as staves and blow guns. Deep inside the horn I can make out a faint glint of metal. As always, the most powerful weapons are always the farthest away.

I take a deep breath.

_Cool_

_Calm_

_Collected_

No matter what happens I will not lose my composure.

When the gong rings out, I race towards the horn of the Cornucopia. Velvet is already there, she grabs a dozen throwing knives between her knuckles.

"ALRIGHT, WHO WANTS TO DIE FIRST!?" she howls and starts hurling her knives haphazardly in every direction. I duck as a knife whizzes at my head, and it hits the girl beside me.

"Saffron, catch!" Cray reaches the weapons and throws two slim swords to me.

I nod my thanks and catch the weapons in midair.

Now it begins.

I swing my first sword in a graceful arc, felling the boy from Seven who made the mistake of going for the double-headed ax by my feet. Without turning my body I pierce the girl from Twelve through the shoulder with my second sword.

She falls to her knees without a sound, blood staining my sword and running down the corner of her mouth. I raise my other sword to finish her off when suddenly, I hear my partner's voice.

"Saffron! Saffron help me!" I hear Velvet call faintly

I halt my strike. I… I don't know what to do.

_Velvet can't win I don't care what you what you have to do, if she comes back and not you I will literally slit my throat..._

_No one would blame you for offing her…._

Ignore her call, or answer it? What course of action would be right? Many wish her to die, but abandoning Velvet would be relinquishing my ideals of honour and valiance. To protect the prestige of District One, I must protect my partner.

"Velvet, Velvet where are you?" I call, quickly withdrawing my swords.

I run to the direction of her voice and watch as she totters to her feet unsteadily, clutching her head. The fact that someone, especially a tribute from an outer district managed to land a blow on her is amazing.

She lets out a low moan, "it was District 8" I follow the direction of her gaze to the boy from Eight rounding the corner of the Cornucopia.

With a cry of rage I chase after him.

"Uh oh" he mutters, when he sees me on his tail

Within a few seconds he is within range of my sword. I draw my arm back and- he drops a grey ball on the ground which erupts in a cloud of thick white smoke enveloping our surroundings.

Immediately my eyes begin to sting and water.

-cough- -cough- _Ugh, the smoke_

_Damn him_

When the smoke clears, the mangy cur and most of the other tributes are gone.

Brushing my hair out of my eyes I make the slow shameful walk back to the Cornucopia.

Valeria arrives at the same time I do, "How does it look?" she asks casually

Cray shakes his head sadly and points to one of the bodies splayed on the ground.

My breath catches in my throat when I see his face. It's Lucas.

I turn my head to look at Valeria, but her face is unreadable.

"Idiot. Couldn't even make it past the bloodbath."

"He's your partner, how can you say that?!" Cray bursts out

"You guys must have known each other from school, how can you can you be so cold? Show some respect for the dead!" He shouts

Valeria turns around and glares at him.

"How could I respect someone who doesn't deserve it? You saw how he ran away when things got rough, a guy like him, he would hang us out to dry in a second!"

Cray bites his lip. He has no response to that and honestly neither do I.

A few moments pass.

"Alright then, um let's just see what supplies we have." He says

The four of us gather the remaining packs and weapons and begin opening the crates. There are a variety of swords, axes, and polearms as well as more exotic weapons that I can't name. It's quite a spread this year, we definitely won't want for weapons or food.

"Hey what are these things?" Valeria frowns, picking up a grey ball from the ground

"It is a smoke bomb, the boy from Eight used one to escape my pursuit." I replied

"Wait what the fuck Saffron, you had one job and you let him get away?!" Velvet yelps

"My apologies-"

She holds up her hand to my face

"Whatever, save your apologies, he's the first fucker we have to find. And when we do, I kill him my own special way, no one interferes." She growls, licking the blood off a knife

"Ok, um well, I think we're all pretty tired from today, let's have something to eat alright?" Cray suggests

We agree and he pulls out four packets of freeze-dried stew from the crate labelled as food. As he cooks the stew in a pot over a fire we discuss our plan.

"So we run into people and kill them right?" Velvet asks

Valeria rolls her eyes "No, that would just be walking right a trap. We need to be organized and have a concrete strategy."

"Yeah Valeria's right. Here's what we'll do, tomorrow at dawn we'll search the nearby water-spots. The first thing tributes need is water so we'll definitely make some kills." Cray says

"Who will guard our stuff?" Valeria asks

"Um…." Cray bites his lip

"We'll just leave it here."

"What the fuck dude, then the other tributes will just jack our shit." Velvet protests

He shakes his head

"No they won't, they're all long gone by now and no one would be stupid enough try in case we are actually here."

"Are you willing to take that chance?" I ask softly

"I don't want to," he sighs "but we're two members short and we need all our manpower-er and womanpower on the field. Everybody will have to carry a pack with enough supplies in case we do get raided. In fact, everybody assemble a survival pack right now."

We get up and disperse.

I pick up a black backpack and throw in a few throwing knives, a bottle of iodine, a roll of bandages, a package of dried fruit, a pile of rope, a water bottle, and jam two spare swords in there. The bag doesn't zip. In all honesty, I have no idea what I'm doing.

When we're finished Cray checks our packs.

"... Seriously you guys?! Velvet, you only packed weapons, you're gonna starve without food! Valeria's is ok except you underfilled it, make use of all the side pockets. Saffron, what the hell you can't put swords in a backpack! And the rope is taking up unnecessary space, you can tie it in a belt and wear around your body like this, see…."

To our amazement he knots the rope into a wide sash and loops it from my shoulder to my waist and across my body like a vest.

"I'll make one for everyone, rope is one of the most important things to have in the Games. Also, you guys should tie knives around your belt, that way it's more accessible and not taking up space in your pack."

Valeria raises an eyebrow, "I know what I'm doing!"

He shrugs "I'm just telling you some basic skills you learn from a fishing district."


End file.
